PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We begin with the inflectionless foundation of a mere man at all loss who could not see whatever it was, which seemed to smother suffocating: black swirling mass of dark dust as with the same and unflagging notion of nothing came to him from upon across the shadows of the lake, sucking them up and fusing them into its hungry hellish substance too, and spake, “The steady march of soldiers’ feet, nobody knows whose aim it was to run amuck in spite of love, like hunted doves; the scrap metal of the past, from axes to ash!” But we sure covered a lot of ground, bodies on bodies stripped of sentimental silk and shoes like by some grim carnivorous cannibal cocoon, motionless, else twitching still in bloodied mud.