Thursday, September 3, 2009

Poetry Year September 1

Screaming from some unseen height,
they deal death, by permanent night.
Unseen buzzing of turbofan insects,
locust plague that has descended from sky's intersects.

Screeching down like lightning strikes,
frail devastation that entwines the smoke,
that points a finger to that point of destruction,
whose appetite has curdled in the stomach,
a worm.

Streaming out are bleeding eyes and tears,
children held in arms, from hospital now tomb.
Colder than cold,
darker than dark,
Emptied of soul.

Above, the locusts, fly on fly on.
Above, the locusts, fly on fly on.

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