Thursday, July 1, 2010

a poem

Death.
You have no victory,
But it seems
You have your trophies.
The scalps
Of those I've loved
Now hang
Off of your belt.

Notched
Upon the handle
Of your gun,
You have tallied
The fallen
Among the ranks
Of men
Your bullet fell.

Stung,
Yet felt no pain,
Your victims
Rest in peace;
But we
Who now remain,
Remain
To give you glee.

1 comment:

Dennissa said...

Whoa that was intense!!
:) like I'm blown away by your poetry skills
for real