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Death Waltz
Author: David -Doc- Byron

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Suspended in moonlight,
a museum of death,
a skeletal mambo,
cold icy breath.
Corpses slow dance,
among the headstones,
the music the peeling of flesh,
the grinding of bones.
Disembodied feet,
pound cold hard stone,
a moldy grave,
the prom Queen's throne.
She'll dance with her King,
til there's no darkness left,
her partner in eternity,
in the waltz of death.

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Comments on this poem/writing:

nikki (68.169.111.32) -- Tuesday, March 9 2004, 11:01 pm

wow

this poem is wonderful and disturbing at the same time! pure genious
rain (70.178.90.159) -- Friday, August 12 2005, 05:00 am

nice

very nice, well rhymed
 
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