Poetry

“After math.”

By 16th May 2009December 9th, 2019No Comments

Sun-Bleached bones, stretch across the dust.
In cloudless skies of dazzling white the Vultures circle
echoes of the fallen,
uniformed spectres fade,
the shades of the lost,
haunt these blasted fields.
Steel creatures lie sides ruptured,
twisted and torn.
Blistered and blackened,
paint peels away exposing the rusting hearts.
Figures in khaki,
shattered, battered,
draped like plastic dolls
warped and melted in blazing heat,
the Vultures soar,
picking over broken bones.
Black muzzles point skywards,
Scorched and rusting,
burnt metal,
blistered,
blasted,
Silence hangs like Cancer,
swollen and bloated it creeps.
In the bone-white skies,
The Vultures circle.

Mark Dron

Author Mark Dron

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