Cast adrift
No where to go
my hands grip
this piece of flotsam
can’t remember why
*
Piece of wracked ship
splintered debris
watery abyss
sucked into darkest
no one hears my cry
*
“welcome to the crypt”
a hollow grating sound
fingertip like cold
opens it’s doors
none knows where I lie
As a writer for the Pen of the Damned, I like to draw attention to the excellence of the writing that you will read by this dark, angst wrought group. Please check out the newest short story by Dan Dillard ,“Visions of the Reaper.” If you like dark, you will not be disappointed
I apologize to the photographer as I lost the information about the piece. If you know, please contact me so I can attribute properly.
penned in moon dust 
A sense of a lost soul conveyed in these lines…enjoyed the read.
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thanks yes perhaps. This one is lost in many ways and yet was it his own foolishness that knocked him on the head or was it plotted
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pulling and grasping and who knows where it ends
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Excellent, Leslie! The voice of your poem struggling to survive…
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Creeps me out totally, Leslie. That is to say it is very powerful. Also, that I fear drowning. 😉
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my friends on the dark side would love knowing that but evoking fear in my friends
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