Vessel of Silent Death
Awakened by a jolt
misty queried fantasy
cold strangled soul
icy grip on the marrow.
Seething under ground
crispy labored breaths
buried alive it seems,
in a vessel of silent death.
Life bequeaths its poison,
coolish vampire's decree
I was hated in my day but...
Now, everyone loves me.
Nocturnal Creeper
Newspaper on a table
obituary section open
whilst tepid tea greets
my rose colored cup.
Today they found Harry
floating in the Creek
nocturnal creeper and
keeper at the old farm.
Twas a Monday last June
whence his Mary passed
Harry's been lost ever
since her burial service.
Alone, cold, not a spark
in his eyes, nor a reason
for taking another breath.
Roaming the roads while
seeking and freaking
upon the questioned
reasons for her death.
On this day in a note left
upon her grave, just before
leaping into the icy depths,
twas Harry who finally
lovingly confessed.
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a Published Poet originally from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He has been writing for many years but has only recently begun seeking publication of his work, these appearing in a number of print venues. He enjoys writing, hiking, playing guitar and time with his cats Merlin and Willa.
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