Get Rid Of The Advertisements

Hoax of Our Times
they held their face close,
so they could taste the flames.
they die one thousand deaths,
at their own hands before idols.
still they live on,
like morbid modernity,
caught in the upheaval,
of all the futurism.
this is the age feared,
dreaded by men; these perilous times.
unable to die but unwilling to live,
the timeline moves onward,
inducing violent spasms,
excused as inoperative coherence.

By southernblood

© 2017 southernblood (All rights reserved)


Read more poems by  southernblood
Send this poem to a friend
Read 2 viewers comment(s)

The Starlite Cafe Discussion Board | Home

Back to Previous Page