Pins are pricking my poor body; It’s night and the owls are gone. The roar of horsepower have replaced their song, And night is now
I wave my blistered hand before my bleeding face, Waving gunpowder smoke and blood fumes in the mist To see the survivors, to see hope.
I’m the anchor chain plunging into the deep, Summoned by the sombre sea bed, taut and steep. I’m the anchor chain torn between the deep
They said they loved me. Then, the metal beasts came, soaring over me Heaping dust and blood on our city streets, As their lethal load
This is a poem I submitted as a submission to a competition on Poetry Soup. The idea was to write lyrics to the instrumental Life
It appeared on the doorpost as a Cyclop’s smiley face For some Cyclops WhatsApp icon, but red-themed application Yes gruesome red, in contrast to the