Mother Earth is dying
Instead of helping people
Are just crying
Over stupid stuff like
Broken hearts and dreams
We each have a purpose
Without the earths surface
It's a purpose that no one can achieve
We've been given life
A fighting chance
Instead we take for granted
All of the beautiful things
Like Sunday morning coffee
Or music in our sleep
We wilt away and die
Like Australia's barrier reef
It's killing me so slowly
To watch a world once lovely
Descend into a chaos
Watch it creep
It's covering
And it's smothering
It's what's causing all this grief
And I'm in disbelief
So pull together
Fellow comrades
Help us restore beauty
To this life
To this planet
About the Creator
Zay Keyz
Short story writer from Oklahoma. Thankful for the opportunity to be read.
Inmate Six
The Toll of Inmate 6 I cocked the trigger, I dropped the hammer, Chasing a life I thought was glamor. But the flash of the barrel is a fleeting light, And life has changed in the dead of night. If only I refrained, if only I’d seen, The hollow end of this killing machine. I hear the distant inmates’ clamour, As guards approach in polished armour. Echoes ring through the concrete hall: "Do the crime, give up your time, give up it all." A gallows pole is now my toll, The weight of the iron upon my soul. The Spiritual Appeal Last rites are read, a spiritual appeal, But the silence of God is the only thing real. He whispered to me in a voice like thunder: "Shouldn't have dropped that hammer, or torn life asunder." My response was solemn as the end drew near, Though I told the walls I felt no fear. But the smell of death is thick and close, A heavy, haunting, final dose. Prayer now departed from my guardian’s hand, As I leave the world of the living man. The Reaper’s Receipt The reaper chimed in with a hollow grin: "No more games to play, let the fire begin. Hell is coming your way, Inmate 6, The clock has stopped its rhythmic ticks." The inmates shout through the bars and steel: "Should have cut a deal for an appeal!" But now it’s late, the walk is straight, With my own two hands, I sealed my fate. The rope was set, the air grew thin, The price was paid for the original sin. The gallows pole took a heavy bend, And Inmate 6 met his silent end.
By Vinn Blackabout 7 hours ago in Poets
The Duelist
The rays of a dying red sun flashed against the onrushing blade. The grey beards say the key to dueling lies in size, speed, reach, righteous fury, whatever the person in front of them pays them to say. Matteo knew better than any it was none of these and had an undefeated record on these sands to prove it.
By Matthew J. Fromm3 days ago in Fiction
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