Children for Breakfast

A thistle and a tassel

An unruly passel

Who were too much of a hassle

So I fed them to my vassal

Note: Hey, when you get hungry enough... ;)

Baited Breath

Removed from the crate

It had a splendid gait

And at this rate

The sheriff wished he was late

For he was the bait

Nighttime Gardening

For I buried her in lime

Where she is safe from slime

The muck and the grime

Under my garden of thyme

Neighbor for Dinner

Two or three

It was silly of me

For I hate him in spades

And I ate him with maize

Dipped in a sour glaze

Liquid Mourning

Weeping

Winding

Curling

Gushing slow along the path

Soaking into dirt

Staining stone & grass

Buzzing

Chirping

Keening

Cawing absent from the air

Silence ominous, foreboding

A reverent, fearful warning

Rustling

Cracking

Creaking

Scratching in the quiet

Heedless of the dread & mourning

Grim claims the cowering soul

Rooftop Rambling

Many are those who seek what is not there

And with neural spasms they decree

God has come to me!

Deadly Portrait

Grim's cadaver's grin

Sharp & wet

As the scythe's curve

Glistening with liquid red at rest upon slender shoulder

Staining long flaxen hair with gore

The Dawning

Quiet darkness fills the land

As realization dawns

How sharp those crystal edges

When Man hears the death knell

And knows it is too late

Graveyard Dust

Someone walks across a grave

Long forgotten & overgrown

As weeds cover the weathered stone

And in the past a man of 29 shivers

Drawing close his cloak in the rain

Grim's Marionettes

A cadaver's smile

Dark & twisted

Grim watches seething blackness cover all

His ravens fly out across the sky

Over mutilated flesh & rivers of blood

Winging in havoc direction

To visit the Left Behind

For the battleground was lost

And Grim reigns here in sickly splendor

Gazing at his fleshy marionettes

A Toast to the Dead

Roses dripping blood at midnight

Ravens nipping at a unicorn carcass

The Council of Wolves waits their turn

Grim surveys the scene

While quietly laughing corpses

Watch the spiders dance a giant web round a satyr

A slender hand raises to signal a halt

And raises a glass of black bile

A toast to the dead

Red Rivers

Blood spattered the wall
Sparkling wet rivulets on the floor

Rushing
Sliding
Gushing

Down the dip in the tiling
Swallowed by the thirsty drain

Whirring
Buzzing
Squelching

Through sinew and bone
As the autopsy resumes

Haunted

You haunt my dreams

In the night I swear I hear you

Familiar footsteps

Spiced cologne

Soft breathing

Gentle touches

Figments of my imagination

My subconscious understands

You should not be gone

The familiar dip in the bed

Your side is always vacant

But on quiet nights

Every night

I swear I feel you

Pressed against me

Holding me close

Butterfly kisses to my neck

Whispered words

Soft

Reassuring

To stop my tears

Stop the nightmares

Your leap replaying on loop

I dare not open my eyes

My mind no longer sane

But morning always comes

And my eyes must open against my will

I am always alone

Forever alone

I would go with you

To you

Wherever you are

Wherever we go

My best method

My surest method

My quickest method

My service arm

Is missing

Other methods

Less messy methods

Are open to me

But none as fitting as the gun

I came to Baker Street

And was reborn by a bullet

I should leave by one

But until I find it

My service arm

The sweet midnight torture

Must be enough

Author's Note: Fan poem in the POV of the BBC's Sherlock version of Dr. John Watson, set after the Reichenbach Fall in season 2, episode 3.

Even Angels Fall

I was so alone

I was so afraid

No longer fitting in

Where once there was no question I belonged

I was broken

I was damaged

I was stagnant

I wanted to die

Stamford saw me walking

He had no idea my thoughts were of suicide

Divine providence?

I almost thought so

Like a dark angel

You swooped in

And plucked away my service arm

Replacing it with a life worth living

So many times you cheated the Reaper

He must have been angry

But then...I guess even angels must fall eventually

I'd have gladly taken that fall in your stead

You performed so many miracles

Is one more too much to ask?

Come back to me

So I may say the words I once feared to give voice to

Author's Note: Fan poem in the POV of the BBC's Sherlock version of Dr. John Watson, set after the Reichenbach Fall in season 2, episode 3

Unspoken

So little time elapses

But already eons have flown

Time is irrelevant

Inconsistent

Without you

The flat lifeless

The pictures haunted

The skull mournful

The city sounds outside the window

Dull

As a train wreck

The creases where you sat

Undisturbed

There was so much I felt

So much I should have said

The flat is haunted

By your memory

By my emotion

By words left unspoken

Author's Note: A fan poem in the POV of the BBC's Sherlock version of Dr. John Watson, set in season 2, episode 3, after the Reichenbach Fall

Always

The price to be near you

So high for everyone else

Is nothing to me

My freedom

My name

My reputation

My life

I gladly sacrifice as needed

With no regrets

I watch you every day

Holding back the things I want to say

The man who knows everything

You observe all available data

For everyone

And everything

But you never truly notice me

Standing right here beside you

Always

Author's Note: This is a fan poem done in the POV of the BBC's Sherlock version of Dr. John Watson.