Grip of Death
Grip of Death poem stories
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mipoet
mipoetMy psychiatrist says he'd vote for me.
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A cold wind blows on the icy plain. I shiver.

Grip of Death

A cold wind blows on the icy plain.

I shiver.

Death approaches on a horse with fiery mane.

I sweat.

The winter of despair.

I cry.

That smell upon the air.

The stench.

Is all of our hope finally lost.

I dread.

Is it time to pay the cost.

It’s time.

Skeletal hand reaches for me.

I shutter.

Eyes filled with tears. Cannot see.

I beg.

He listens not, clutches me, the pain.

It’s everywhere.

Till I go insane.

The end of me.

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