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A poem about deciding, when death decides for us all |
A Scene Of Horrors by Keaton Foster A body here More bodies there Deceased people Bloated sheeple Stagnant steeples Taken down Raised To the ground Broken bones Empty homes Dead as death Lifeless beings No longer living Seeing nor believing God above The devil below Who the heck knows Where did they go Why did they leave Was it their time Or is the concept of time Merely a game A cruel illusion Turned on its head Broken As always said By those keeping count All of you will die They scream at the dead Making less sense Then life itself Fear thy God Fear thy Devil Inside darkness We must reside One is real The other Is false A decision Must be made While not deciding Is the real decision After all But then again They are all dead Deceased Rotting meat Vultures fly high Carian denied Putrid refined Oh the smell What a hell As far as seen Beyond belief Bodies A scene of horrors Some shot Some stabbed Some cut in half Many smashed to bits Interchangeable limbs Who is who What is what Caved, is the skull But those eyes Blankly see nothing More than ever before Aware Upon fates cruel edge Those who remain stand Watching behind Looking ahead Knowing the end Before it arrives A scene of horrors Plays out like a game Where losers are defined By the same standard Of those who are Considered winners… Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2008-2021 |