Prowling
By T. R. Phillips
It’s late at night he’s on the prowl
he hears the shuffle of a boot
and quick as a flash he turns to shoot
but as he turns he smells the foul
sickly stench of sour sweat
he recognizes the odor awful
and knows this man is much less lawful
he can see the steely seamy set
he knows in strength he’s equally met
he means to kill him neatly now
just like he’d kill a squealing sow
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May 22, 2009 at 1:12 am
Great poem! Super cool, very original
July 8, 2009 at 7:39 am
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July 13, 2009 at 1:13 am
Very nice picture with awesome words. Excellent post.
August 4, 2009 at 3:33 am
great article, will recommend to friends rep
September 3, 2009 at 11:30 pm
Thanks for the info