Monday, June 02, 2008

The Pit

Lost children
cry softly
in the hollow
of my chest.

It's cold
and breath does
not take.

Sharp pain
spreads in
clouds
overhead.

On the horizon
a ruddy sun
casts rays of
soft light
to nourish
them.

1 comment:

Beysshoes said...

I believe the first and final stanza's are most critical in hooking and releasing the reader. See how this alters your poem:

It's cold
and breath does
not take.

Dull pain
hangs in
fattened clouds

over their
sad heads.

Low on
the horizon
a wan
Red sun

casts rays of
softer light
to nourish
them.

Lost children
cry softly
in the hollow
of my chest.