ReaperGlancing upon crimson skies,
like a raven he lay in wait.
A fallen angel perched up high,
counting as the final hour drew nigh.
As crimson gave way to a velvet black,
a veil of darkness cloaked the land,
as fields of gold were stained with steel,
with the Devil they sealed the deal.
As the still of night was pierced with screams,
among the cries moved a force unseen,
like a mighty plague he swept the land,
as the face of God turned,
and He lifted His hand.
No army or weapon stood as darkness loomed,
from the start they had sealed their doom,
and in the now crimson fields where his task begun,
no one was left,
his work was don
Volcano PoemOf conic design, this giant remainsVolcano Poem6 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
Pulled up from earth, and reaching for sky
A stone in slumber, although her veins
Pump hot garnet rage; keep her alive
From above all, she watches downward
With one cold eye, in her earth-cast center
Volcano finds herself feeling ignored,
Envious of all the life below her
For immeasurable time, all she has seen
Is the mobility others have been allowed
Yet take for granted, it appears obscene
To she who when stirred sometimes sets free a cloud
The Natives below lark about
Peaceful and keen, they have no knowledge
Of fear, they are happy, have no doubt
That they are secure from all carnage
What of me?From a seed I did growWhat of me?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But what fruits have I to show?
Hanging off me are but withered leaves
And dying flowers hanging like empty sheaths.
Where are my thorns that had protected me?
Or my gardeners that had promised to tend me?
My bark is falling
My branches bent
My trunk is hollow
My canopy rent.
What does it matter, what they had said
When at the end of the day, their words are dead?
The pleasant words they spoke, the vows they made
Now exist nowhere but in my head.
They helped some flowers, pulled out a few weeds
But did they really do 'good deeds'?
The garden has perished
Only death remains
Nothing but decay
Is found a