In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Loving Memory.”
Have I won or lost, I am drained, the frost digs deeper & deeper, do I see now the reaper?
The habit, limp & torn hangs on an eerie frame. The twinkle on the sickle blade is a far, far cry from being tame.
Escape seems futile, have I been here before, when beauty reigns, do I glance at the floor?
Am I to blame, do you know my name, who will come, who will see?
…escape free my friend, escape free.