Dark Poetry #4 |
Thanksgiving |
moondogz Member
since 2007-05-01
Posts 397Great White North |
Thanksgiving The weasel's in the hen house, letting some blood. Eggs tumble from the nest, splatter in the mud. He's writing his name, in red on the wall. From right to left, two feet tall. REDRUM REDRUM He's come to call. No longer any worry, when the axe will fall. [This message has been edited by moondogz (09-30-2007 01:49 PM).] |
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© Copyright 2007 Paul R Breen - All Rights Reserved | |||
Seeker72 Member
since 2007-02-24
Posts 387Oregon USA |
That was a quality read. I loved it. |
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moondogz Member
since 2007-05-01
Posts 397Great White North |
Thanks Seeker72 for your kind words...they are always welcome. moon. |
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Abbeon Member
since 2006-11-30
Posts 228Curiousity, and wonder |
Hmm. well that was definitely a twisted peace of work. The meaning I got was probable not what you meant but still was amazing. Huzah. (No insults meant I’m a little warped twisted poems under dark is definitely a Good thing) The world behind these thoughtful eyes, caution may seem crazy. |
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moondogz Member
since 2007-05-01
Posts 397Great White North |
Thanks for your comments Abbeon, I'm curious as to what meaning you got out of this poem. moon. |
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