Millard Lowe Poet Prose Poetry

For Those Whom the Bells Are Tolling

FOR THOSE WHOM THE BELLS ARE TOLLING…

The acid rains have come and gone;
Leaving nuclear winters chasing 
The purple autumns of our lives;

Dying bones, wrapped in parched skins,
Silhouette the inept horizons
Of the desert’s edge;

Famine, the silent emissary of death,
Carpets the naked altar of life:
Hunger tutoring the sacrificial lambs;

While in the shadows and hues
Of distant dawns, ships sail to the moon:
Leaving death smiling at the evil that men do.

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