My home I used to stay but the wild war wind blew me away I used sweet song gladness with you but now I walk alone sing third swan sadness in a sad and solemn tone so
march on We go trying to hide our fear that are inevitable End is near
But we go marching on .
We get closer the thought gets louder as we hear the frightening devastating explosions of gunpowder.
Oh no
oh no
not us
not you
not me
not I
not we
WHY ME?
Then we terrifyingly see the gigantic grotesque government sternly staring at me and then he screamed in a loud demanding vulgar tone.
“Look boy you have no choice for in this world you no longer have a voice .
Now march come on go you are the luscious wild white lamb I am the farmer now go on and go to the slaughter!”
I ran as fast as I could . I tried my best but then an agonizing pain blasted through my chest I dropped my gun and laid down my wiry head I then said goodbye to this world as I now lay Cold white and dead.
Comments
Hi Edward, scary prose poetry
Hi Edward, scary prose poetry, all about death, dictatorship and war. Death comes to the youngest and the discriminated people first of all, they have no choice but to join the forces, where they get food and lodging of a sort.
I like your title and the content, but as usual, I think the spacing is defficient. Just my take, you don't need to change, TorT.
I understand there might be a forum for prose soon. It's being talked about, I think we need one.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts so well, all the best, Gracy
Thank you
I hope you are doing fine in this Time mass hysteria
Thank you