Overgrown Boys With Bigger Toys
What do wars do, really,
Except fill coffins
And long strong black cars.
The dead are their business,
Laying up death for rainy nights,
While in store houses stink
Of stories cut short at the slabs -
Stack up like crates;
Pushing to be going.
And yet these neatly packaged lives,
So tight with memories,
We trade off
For bigger arms that harm the sky.
Exhausted, the sky screeches
As bullies pummle the earth like jack hammers.
Outside the over crowded mortuaries fill up
New crisp coffins creep by
Long strong black cars.
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.
