Black Crescent Doom

Red and orange heat of doom
Making a black crescent layout
Having the last thing you hear a shout
A shout calling for help
Or a shout of eaking pain
Searching for a breath of air
For smoke comes from this black crescent doom
Making the lungs you rely on, give out
And give up
You have no more air
No more living
Suffocating by this black crescent doom
Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace