Edge

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This poem is about a man who has been mortally wounded by his friend.

Submitted: February 06, 2009

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Submitted: February 06, 2009

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Rubicund tears
fade to a pallid hue
as they fall
upon the cold,
marble ground below.
Upon thy blade
I have fallen.
Why?
Was it for love?
Regret?
Perhaps.

Oh, do not worry.
T’is a scratch!
That is all.
Hah!
Do not worry
about me. You don’t
deserve to.
This is your doing,
not mine.
What is there to be sad about?
You will live,
not I. Or are you sorry?
No.
No.
How can you be so cold?
As cold as the icy hands of
death that have come for me.

Our friendship
has sunk far beneath the
icy surface of the Atlantic.
It now rests with its
lover the Titanic.
Darkness has come for my sight,
stealing you away from me.
Goodbye fair Montague.

A plague upon your houses!


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