Is It Poetry
Death, How I Invited It
How it holds the key I never held.
The snake and it's fangs,
it could not fell.
The fall from mountain tops.
One broken collar bone.
A lit match dropped into gas.
It never did explode.
Standing on a shark that never bit.
the wires fell on my truck.
From hood to hitch.
The gun put in my face,
that did not fire.
The knife into my side,
I did not die.
The overdose at twenty five.
And the coma I awoke from.
goes on ad on, to long I did not die.
Black widow spiders made me cry.
I know not why.
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Comments about this poem (Death, How I Invited It by Is It Poetry )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1753 – 5 December 1784)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1644 - 1694)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Robert Louis Stevenson
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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