Dead leaves

Dead deeds

Echo in the moonlight


Counting the days

Til Christmas

Hope remains

Despite the stains

Past regrets

Nothing lets me forget

A second of peace

Lies lovely in my memory,

Glances at me in the mirror.

Have mercy

On my tortured mind,

The sound behind

Pierces my soul

I feel the grind

Of hell’s watchthings

Preying on what they find

At the bottom

Of the wishing well.

The smell of fear

Envelops my body.

Count the days…

Til Christmas.


Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger

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