And then there were none
There is not much sound left
This nomadic caravan bells still jingle
The wagons are all about
In pieces
Poor May with the blood all dried up
Sue got dragged away
Dave is done
Old Tom don't want to know what happened to him
Kamen too
None of the others could have fled
It was too fast
It has been that long
And then there were none
Just of course me and you
Me with this festering wound
Me without the strength to move
I cannot shout
It is what happens when you are pinned down by a barrel
Even more with a wound
As for you
you big bird with your beak
You will get your due
For now it is the dry and red sands
The iron smelling air
The morning sun
The unanswered prayer
What kind of robbers try and rob the poor?
What kind of robbers bother those who were willing to share?
I suppose I will never know.
But will you now have your due...
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of the Tides
PoetryA series of poems with different meanings and moods. They are all here and have been here a good time from the tides of my mind. I give you some entries of earnest tidings.
