Cancer
These bugs eating away at my bones
Their army of red soldiers invading my land and my people
White men shot down by the red uniformed illness
They spread their disease.
They multiply
They grow
Painting the white in red paint,
giving them new uniforms,
a reason to betray my health.
While others are
Shot.
Fallen.
My kingdom falls at each bloodshed
My heart seizes to pump blood
A deadly storm rains down on white men
Who can't protect me, my kingdom, themselves,
From this cold thunder and wet infectious lightning
That brews.
The red men over weight the white and now my army
Has little left to help defend themselves.
The storm won't bypass this kingdom of mine and soon
I must hand the crown to the Grim Reaper
In hopes of moving on to a better place.
YOU ARE READING
Shadows From The Heart & All Other Places They Hide
Poetry"Please tell me, why does one write poems at all? Isn't it a waste of time?" A child asked me once. I replied, "So we could write meaningfulness to cover up the truth that everything is meaningless." It was the truth, was it not? Cover made by me
