Irony's Bite (A Sonnet)
Dearest friend-your death washes over me
Nineteen days after the unanswered call
I walk through shivering tree's scabby leaves
Chilled with loud whispers of an early fall
I run my fingers over open wounds
Lesioned initials we left on this trunk
Forest floors grow over your steps, ungroomed
Mossy hollows brag where your feet once sunk
And the misty fog teases arid eyes
The rain was your favourite sensation
Guilt consumes withering rays in the sky
Your absence bears a cruel laceration
Blood warms and seeps from ironys sharp bite
Damned-I didn't answer your call that night
poem by Aria Siren
Added by Poetry Lover
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