Death Grip

Clutched in my hands with a deathly cold grip are a quill dipped in ink and a parchment with a poem half written, yet unfinished. I was writing about the heavy-handedness of the Grim Reaper… cruel, cold and heartless. Too soon was taken away my love from me leaving me brokenhearted and glum. Grieving for days and nights Wailing over my lost love, I vowed to seek revenge and expose death’s darkest core. Becoming at once privy to my innermost sinister thoughts, Death sneaked behind me and laid his heavy hand upon my shoulder… Leaving a half written poem and the ink-dripping quill still clenched in my hands! ~Early June Standard Contest by Brian Strand.