Paradise
Great orchids bloom
Against the humid, foggy gloom,
Seedlings eat the dead
And on my skin rolls angry red
As army ants crush my bones
Marching over my heaving tombstone;
And I rot six feet underneath
While paradise glares at me with gnashing teeth.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.