Z-Day

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  • Death

    Z-Day
    All around the dead have risen
    Escaping each trench-like prison
    The cadavers lurch with a hungry glare
    But no mind or soul lies behind one's stare
    Their flesh is a-crawl with maggot and worm
    The sight makes me squirm
    Its heartbreaking to see
    Such a blasphemous atrocity
    Its the Day of the Dead
    All hope has since been shed

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    Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

    Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

    RxParanoia’s Poems (33)

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