Category: Poetry
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Dirty Henry and the Grim Reaper
LIFE IS GRIM I am in hell, Henry cried when his brothers and son died. Oh, really, says Grim, just wait — and cut down his last soul mate! Who’s next, you sick piece of shit? My own damn death, is that it? You sorely tempt me, says Grim raising his skeletal limb. Smiling, Henry has…
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The searcher
In the dead of night the steady drumming of rain on the roof and in the bushes outside my window awakens my soul and sends it searching, searching for my wife in the unknown void where death left her body so frail and lost and left me alone in a living hell in the dead of night. 🔝
Mary Saves the Day 