Poetry+Analysis+Project

Dying Man By. James Love



Cold. Afraid and alone. Lost in the blankets of darkness. Life slowly seeps from the wounds.

Where now were my comrades? Who would now comfort me? I see my mother’s face Smell her sweet fragrance.

Her tender embrace, Brings brief warmth. But not for my body Only my soul.

My life is nearly over Before it has scant begun. My hopes and aspirations Ended on this dammed hill.