The End

I walked
Through the Valley of Death
Where the vultures
Line the pathway
Three deep.

In the hope
Of an easy dinner
That night.

Where the light
Is measured
By the shades of black
To tell dawn's arrival.

Only sound made
Is the steady tread
Of my feet
Upon the gravelly pathway
Leading nowhere.

Death reaches out
For my soul
To add one more
For Her collection.

Letting my body fall
In a soundless heap
As the vultures
"Fine dine" on me.

Author's Note

Feeling down, during a rainy day, when I wrote this, on April 4, 2014.

Reviews

[Tina Louise UK]

Quite chilling this one hun...enjoyed :) x

[therisa]

Thank you, Tia. Glad, you enjoy this. Hoping, I had captured a "gothic" feeling, for this poem.