The Sentencing


The bright colors taunt me,
may as well be shades of grey, or black.
A party, they call it,
But I see this is my funeral.

Stuffed to the brim, with my first and final meal,
their eyes watch with excitement and hunger.
Hanging from a noose, I face my end.
My death will be their delight.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem