Phil Roberts

Death in winter

I am 64 and loves cats, rock music, and horror fiction and poetry






A life is lost in winter
On Melbourne’s frigid streets,
In Fisher Street, an alleyway
A heart no longer beats.

In a blanket in dense shrubbery
A young man, old before his time,
Lies huddled ‘gainst the winter chill
Until they make a ghastly find.

The police go in to investigate
Alerted by a noxious stench,
And from the blanket’s putrefaction
Protrudes a single fist in clench.

Remains too foul to mention
Are of a man long dead,
Attacked while sleeping in the shrubs
For twenty years his only bed.

Syringes lie around the corpse
The signature of those who kill,
Who took this poor man’s empty life
Exulting in their monstrous thrill.

THE END
© Copyright 2021 Philip Roberts,
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

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