Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
2d
The rain pounds through everything.
The earth fills up.
Who would complain, refrain!
Reevaluate your luck.

Flesh melts and burns, it isn’t real,
But a future not so far off.
I see coiled springs, and reactive things,
And sick speculations rule my thoughts.

Gods help us all.

A devil drawls. A siren shrieks.
The masses spit and shout.
A dried up tear for who cannot speak.
No light can lead us out.

The story will not change,
And the ruler won’t relent.
Mere reluctance makes revolution not,
And all my thoughts are spent.

Gods help us all.
Too much talking. Too much blame.
Too much pointing, and shouting of names.
We put the poison in our own punch, and blame other inclusions for our illnesses.
We forget what we have.
Talk is cheap.
Written by
The Wilted Witch  F/Canada
(F/Canada)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems