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Dark Poetry #4

Below the Bunkers

SilhouetteMarquis
Junior Member

since 2008-02-07

Posts 32

0 posted 2008-09-23 11:07 PM

Limb from limb, he seeks his flesh
Like a target to a bomb.
Hairs and creases fold as mesh
As nobody's there to hold him.

Sweat sweeps down his freckled face
Like a twisted child's game
Where dots are singularities
Of sorrow, all the same.

He glances at the little things
He seemed to miss before
The coming of the horsemen
His private study door.

Not irone nor cloroflora
Would keep this flame alive.
As frigid as the stille air
Strikes deep the iron dive.

Bombardment starts above the vein
Our transportation's down.
And ripping through our battlements
Quick, those sirens, sound!

And bloodied jackets, save for those
Struck with flack and grime
Sit and wait for his return
Until the end of time.

White flags rise in calming winds
As red flags soon arise
As soon, the beaches turn to night
And darkness fills the skies...

The soul is never broken
But the skin, it never lies.

[This message has been edited by SilhouetteMarquis (09-24-2008 08:25 PM).]

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