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  • Sonnet

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    A sonnet describes a murder scene where crimson blood has stained lilies red and flows like nightshade. A pale hand is outstretched as the reaper leads through a bedroom by the coast. Television static screams for days illuminating blackened linen while at night it is as silent as the waves, meticulously hiding the fact. No sirens cry out about the death that breathes again, and the pale hand has never stirred, using dripping blood of sugar and red dye to mask the fact that she runs from that body and life, for she is nobody's wife.

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    A sonnet describes a murder scene where crimson blood has stained lilies red and flows like nightshade. A pale hand is outstretched as the reaper leads through a bedroom by the coast. Television static screams for days illuminating blackened linen while at night it is as silent as the waves, meticulously hiding the fact. No sirens cry out about the death that breathes again, and the pale hand has never stirred, using dripping blood of sugar and red dye to mask the fact that she runs from that body and life, for she is nobody's wife.

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    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
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    21 views1 page

    Sonnet

    Uploaded by

    api-644268183
    A sonnet describes a murder scene where crimson blood has stained lilies red and flows like nightshade. A pale hand is outstretched as the reaper leads through a bedroom by the coast. Television static screams for days illuminating blackened linen while at night it is as silent as the waves, meticulously hiding the fact. No sirens cry out about the death that breathes again, and the pale hand has never stirred, using dripping blood of sugar and red dye to mask the fact that she runs from that body and life, for she is nobody's wife.

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    © All Rights Reserved
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    Sonnet

    Kat, Alessa, Madison

    Murder Most Foul


    What blood has stained the lilies crimson red?
    Crimson flows like nightshade, unbeknownst
    Her pallid hand outstretched, the reaper led
    Through the weary bedroom by the coast.

    Television static screams for days


    Illuminating linen soaked in black
    But in the night as silent as the waves
    Meticulously hidden is the fact

    No sirens cry to death that breathes again


    And that pallid hand has never stirred
    The dripping blood of sugar and red dye
    Masks the fact that she is on the highway
    Running from that body and that life
    For she is nobody’s wife.

    DA dum DA dum DA dum DA dum DA dum

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