Chrome
A chrome gun glittering
in the hot sun raise, rays radiating
like a heliographic rainbow,
drawn from shimmering halos
of inferno light, hot.
White smoke from a funeral pyre,
drifts like ghosts over this lost terrain.
The hum of traffic
on a different shore,
each appealing in his own discourse,
each the shadow of a passing memory,
faces of lost in the Dream
becoming chrome…
A smoking gun; tears fly, ragged...
across this war-torn dominion,
to the unknown,
on the coming thunder, it echoes
in the canyons of a city, vast.
A figure falls,
the shadows deepen in the halls.
Something stands tall,
slow in elements of time...
of a past life to no one last,
screams of some come to different traffic.
The hmmm of white sound!
Drones in the veins
of the leviathan,
elements of a life lost and lived out,
at last,
the chrome gun glinting
under a hollow sun,
heliographed.
…incoming of one,
as the storm clouds gather
on the horizon.
He Dreams bitter,
resounds with echoes down
the Corridors of Time.
As vacant a car sits,
in lost baron shopping marts
and forgotten car lots,
the dead
are sitting sublime
in chrome spinning
flashing over around
down under a gun
glittering under the Infernal Hollow Sun…
oppressive hell in its damnation. Eternal!
A chrome gun glittering in the hot stars,
hot shells flying into the air,
exploding rounds echo in chambers of ancient cities…
a ruined Metropolis!
Raise!
Oh!
Death...
the reapers scream
radiating like a heliographic rainbow...
as the shells spin to the ground,
down shimmering halos,
thunder resounds
sparks alight in inferno white light,
hot…
burning!
BRIGHT!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
