Author: Rick Ryckman
Where can I find shelter from the piercing storm?
In the wreckage of sorrow there is no escape.
The countless evils are done but will not vanish.
In the bitter cold my demons are not frozen.
The devil's blood paints the night crimson.
Like a hungry thief stealing the color of my soul.
The dark harbinger drinks from the golden elixir.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Meridian (188.8.131.52) -- Friday, September 22 2006, 12:50 am|
I love the poem R.R.! A poem starting with H's. Harbinger, Hangman, and forgot the rest. You. You. Whew. Lost my breath. Deeply expressed! Love it scholar!
Click here to read other Poems by Rick Ryckman
Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack
COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved. No part of this website, including all pictures and written words, may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without permission of the original author of the work. All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner. All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org so the proper person may be notified.