Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2016
Our world is dying
Its aches are the wars
its groans are the screams

like a thorned crown
needles my mind
sowing doubt
and guilt.

Yet, I accept my purpose...
I heed the signs
I slay the serpents
I caw the call
salvation is worth this.

I gather the worthy:
the wheat from
those humans, now demons,
in abandonment,
but the worthy, chins high
heads aglow
walk the path;
I tread
through endless snow.

Yet when the passage
has been met
"Was I wrong?
Am I false prophet?
Crazed all along?"

For the gate is not barred
it spits us out.
It cleanses its treasure
from our ilk
like holy drought.

Left to scour the wasteland
gnawing us with frost
We wander its wasting reaches
We're not frightened
we're lost.
Believe it or not,
despite the religious allusions,
I intended this to be about publication
and trying to make it as an artist.
However, it can be what you wish to see :)


Written by
DEW  28/M/New York
(28/M/New York)   
       Mary Winslow, Lazhar Bouazzi, ---, East Wind, ryn and 7 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems