Along the walls the baleful shadows creep,
The deadly wind brings suffocating cold.
The wish for death, for the eternal sleep,
That is the prize for soul that was sold.
The sun is set, and night approaches near,
A man lies on the bed with dreadful sight.
His eyes are full of deep horrific fear,
Tonight the death will do decaying bite.
The clouds give the way to ghastly moon,
And rancorous light falls on the bed.
The man could not avoid his mystic doom,
He’s lying in the night but lifeless, dead.
The fear took his last forsaken breath,
And that is how he came upon his death.
Untitled Sonnet
© Copyright: Никита Смирнов, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107012702857
Свидетельство о публикации №107012702857
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