Hol I could hear the butchering hungry heartbeats of the black crows Wondering outside the window of my father's bedroom - The peaks of evil eyes quaking for fresh carcass And Rich thick bloods ready to be suck - My father's wounded cancer has haunted him for Decades - Near, his fingers shivered, Toes agitating And Speechless to the standing crowds with flowing tears - When a word is spoken His head tilts, leaning back like He is choking from the Johnny's apple deep down his long throat - With his lungs and veins adjourned, Bloods unzipping out, gashing Down the connected lines of his palm - Bleeding like the Honorable Nile River of his nostrils painted the Sheets of his bed into red - Red inks dashing from the edge of his eyes onto the Bunker Hills of his pillow Alas, a cough was heard and ringers the ears of the whispers in this evening - His chains has ripped and the black crows filled with bloods and fresh meat - And That is the night of my Father's death -
Reason for writing:
death is undefine
Birth sign: Scorpio
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by nor vang.