PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

wandering beneath

a twisted green grey shadowed sky
thunder with flashes of lightning
you now those threatening times

when a dribble becomes a downpour

times that summon me into submission
and I hear a woman’s voice
telling me she's the black angel
she shows me her scars

and tells me to pick my poison

and I see the abandoned

old times already
she tells me slowly

she knows the way of dying
catalogs of visions flashing before my eye

and soon there are pages to flip through
ways to go

choices to make
going the way
of twilight thresholds

down backstreet’s of the hazy darkness

now weep
it is sadder

than the clock's hands pumping
wheeling around and around
time flies with and without sound
weep for hooded head
weep

then weep again
too late to weep for the last dead