they come in
for a temporary fix but the doors
close
behind them like
iron gates guarded
by the
angel of death.
the only way to leave
is through him.
the bitter smell of
death
decay
is in the air.
their solemn souls
sold to medicine
that chains them
to this earth.
some of their kind
hold hope
of a safe exit
but the sirens
roll
by fast now.
the angel of death
lowers his sword
the weary heart
comes to a
stop.
empty are the faces
that remain
because they know
no body
gets out
alive.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
you've got a pretty broad range of subject matter. very nice. dark, light, nature, problems of the world. I especially like in this poem the lines
their solemn souls
sold to medicine
that chains them
to this earth.
I worry this is true of our day and age.
Post a Comment