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Death at the Doorstep by OliverBPhotography, literature
Death at the Doorstep
Death has now come to your doorstep Every bomb a knock-knock-knock on your door The grim visage of the skull keeps inching ever closer; yet if feels as though he is breathing down my neck as well. Hearts beating to the rhythm of the war drums, bodies falling in line to serve their purpose; Pieces being moved on the chessboard by unseen hands with hidden motives. The wall you built for protection, a monument to silence Turns to barbed wire that cuts into your flesh As it does into mine, sweet darling; and so the two of us bleed in unison. Already I can hear the reaper: Knock. Knock. Knock. And I wonder when he will arrive at my doorstep. Run, my love. Run swift as the wind, run - run as if your live depends on it, because it does. RUN.