Author Information
The Death of Words
Rain screamed
against the tin roof,
metallic staccato
framed
his demise,
poison smoke
rose above
his broken
form,
the melodic rain
turned to
a mighty roar,
a million roars
to herald
this soul’s
entry into heaven
or hell…
and the blood,
a halo ‘round his head
already congealed
in a perfect circle.
Ladies and gentlemen,
a wordsmith is dead.
