Waiting For Hell

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  • Dark Poetry

    Waiting For Hell
    Waiting for Hell

    I can hear them coming
    For me
    I broke a heart
    I broke my soul
    I onced looked on Hevan
    My gaze travels south now
    I am the worst of them
    Wretched and stinking

    I have no chains on my wrists
    I can travel as far as the horizon
    But they are coming

    They knew me long ago
    And lost me
    Then I lost me

    I can hear him draw close
    He smiled at me long ago
    He knew I wouldn't go far

    I can feel the heat
    I can feel the heat
    I am waiting for Hell

    They pulled thier wings away from me
    After my last bargain
    Tattered bat like wings

    He is right next to me
    His face
    Like an aborted twin

    I can smell the pain
    I can smell the pain
    I am waiting for Hell

    I have to go now
    His arm around my shoulders

    My bad dreams came real
    Came account

    I am waiting for Hell

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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