Black in the end,
darkness consumed.
The baby's crib was no longer blue.
No one was there to clean up the mess,
for mother was already trapped in a chest.
Push, pound,
she was knocked to the ground.
The police pronounced her dead.
My room was down the hall,
first on the left.
I went into my closet,
and climbed into the mess.
A shadow loomed over my head,
in a hurry, so he did not lift the bag.
Footsteps rush down the hall,
father was sitting in the office, that's all.
Crush, crunch,
he was knocked to the ground.
The police pronounced him dead.
No sounds I heard,
I peeked into the hall.
No one was there,
the shadow was downstairs,
so I leapt to the baby's room.
Leaning over the crib,
it was no longer blue,
Blood had soaked into the blankets there.
No cry, no wail,
she was silenced as well.
The police pronounced her dead.
I stood at the crib,
my family was dead.
Crack, boom,
I fell to the floor.
A shadow loomed above me.
Crack, tear,
I was blood-stained as well.
The police pronounced me dead.
All was black in the end.
YOU ARE READING
Gentle Screams and Glass Figurines
Poetry"Nothing can protect us from the human screams, as the fire of anarchy intoxicates our once innocent minds." ~~~~~~ A collection of poems about life, death, and everything in between. Dark, deep, and horror poetry intended to make you think abou...
