WastelandA Poem by Sam GregoryPerched on its skeletal, dry branch of death, A malevolent vulture spies hungrily my insecurities. Lost in the eternal wasteland, I crawl in burning sand, An unconscious breeze, a flood of thirst and my starved enemy. Once a searing desperation to survive, is now surrender, My final parched hope withers to the threat of a scavanger. Feathery rags of blackness circle in a cloudless, white hot sky, I struggle onto my back, and face death as it moves to land. The almost blinding glare of the sadistic sun is suddenly in shadow, As a bone breaking beak to bloody fear intesifies the weakness. A mean yellow glare to lifeless blue, and a smile of horror, A hand, the vultures, reaching out to continue it's profession. On my shoulder it lands, I hear "Sam, Sam... are you alright?" Neglected, blackened tongue crumbled to dust.... I can't speak out... But instantly I'm awake as the kind doctor feeds on my decay, Razor sharp reason, a surgeon for my twisted mind.
© 2019 Sam GregoryAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorSam GregoryHuddersfield, West Yorkshire, United KingdomAbout26 year old poet from Huddersfield, West Yorkshire, England more.. |