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.
at

1 comment:

  1. Beysshoes3:13 AM

    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.

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