PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Time moves forward

Seasons have come and gone

The end: a distant goal

Eternity is the next breath…







A wheat field; noon-day sun

Wind rustling the tops

Gently caressing

Slender golden crops



Staggered steps from a sallow body

Red eyes shielded from blinding light;

Night a recent memory and a distant hope

Too far away from the dark no will to fight



Eyes cry out; mind filled with doubt

Life is not freedom; only death

Another link to the chain;

Slave to eternity with every breath



Skin hangs loosely from the bone

Too painful to see

How much time, how far-alone

Screams at the sight; bodies flee



Black rags hide the emaciation

Dark hood hides all but the eyes

Dull red coals in a pit of dark

To look upon them is to die



Winds no longer blow

Crops no longer sway

Not a sound, not a sign of life

All have died this day



A discarded scythe

Long-handled and curved

In a tree - the watchful crow

Messenger in the form of a black bird



It nods approval

The Becoming completed

Under watchful eyes

Small black and beaded



A figure in black rags

Walks amongst the crop

And with scythe in hand

All in his wake dies and drops.