Feel the Dread.
Creation
slips off firm gyration,
Stark convulsions, wildly fluctuate.
Where fanatic zealots refuse to deviate
when the blare of trumpets finally obviate
any need for recourse for the dead?
Watch the moon, rusting red.
Feel the dread.
Copyright © Gerard Keogh Jr. | Year Posted 2010
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