Duncan’s Final Dream (a Sonnet)

Death trails me with his crimson jowls
His face a skull of flesh picked clean
I try, but can’t hold back the howls
And so, out comes a tortured scream
His cold look of a constant wait
Heats slowly up into a stare
My chest fills with his violent hate
To breathe, I must, I gasp for air
My lungs can’t pass their utmost test
In deathbed, bathed in blood, I lie
A lone drop falls upon my chest
My murderer begins to cry
Hot tears stream down his bloodied face
Ambition took his dead heart’s place

photo: Raphael Schaller

Josef Keller for Poetry in Form.