PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Life is just a sword at ones throat

the gleaming tip guilty from the last victims soul



His only crime was to believe the unbelievable



there was no-one to answer his call

as he laid fists clenched, naked on the floor



He was force fed goodwill from those whom he mattered not



He bade farewell to himself when he lost his individuality



they stole it from the throat of his dreams

birthed it out like it was inspirational



Then he was left spiritless and bound over

anonymity was no prize

considering what he'd lost



Now alone, no way of tracing his world

to reach out to his family would be sentencing them to the next life

but what existence would they have

without their father, brother husband lover son



So automatic gun, barrel at his head he closed his eyes

they would never read his epitaph anyway



He'd already died you see

in that robbery on 31st street.