Clip, clop.
Wood against wood.
Hollow sound resonates.
Echoing, echoing.
Excited laughter.
He whittles away the wood,
Whittling it down into tiny shapes.
Tightly attached by strings.
A world controlled by him,
And him alone.
YOU ARE READING
Last Wish, My Poem Collection
PoetryFirst poem book. I've filled it to the top with dark poems from the far corners of my mind. Enjoy my shadows.
