Author: Mark Spencer
It happened on a beach near Savannah,
An unnatural odor on the wind;
A crime spree that started in Montana,
Abruptly came to a violent end.
The killer’s body fell limp in the sand,
His spirit released with his final breath.
An angel appeared and held out her hand.
A fate shared by all, confronted with death.
She led him away with wings made of light,
He followed her lead, ignoring the smell.
Into a domain of Stygian blight,
Eternally bound by torturous hell.
Beware the angels that wickedness brings,
Never forget…even demons have wings.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Meri (126.96.36.199) -- Saturday, June 18 2011, 02:51 am|
The last two lines - especially the last one - is a great way to the end the poem.
I certainly want to go up, instead of down. The thought of Hell scares me.
|Terrie* (188.8.131.52) -- Thursday, June 23 2011, 09:33 pm|
WOW! such a powerful Piece-
in a life that I'm still tryin' to understand-More so Myself...lookin' back, Prayin' that I'm doin' right...
I must agree..."Never forget…even demons have wings."
|Wess (184.108.40.206) -- Wednesday, July 20 2011, 02:31 am|
And a very good point it is! Nice writing!
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