The Prize - August 3, 2001

The Prize
(c) August 3, 2001

Just a touch of madness
growing shades of doubt
Telling eyes inside my head
proclaim I can't get out

Darkness fogs my mind
faces crowd my dream
Happy to have found you
you'll not again be free

The hooded man with sickle
beckons from his lair
Patient, sure, and silent
waiting for death's snare

When will I last quiver?
Will I be cast a clue?
Haunting feelings answered
by questions bathed in truth

Not a night of peace
only sparks of fear
My day is coming soon
my time is growing near

At last the hours of torment
the hell that comes from life
will find it's way to laughter
death will be my prize

by Ricky D. McKean

No comments:

Post a Comment