Shortly after making the poem “Auditorium Horror”, I wasn’t through yet in making something and in about a half an hour later, came this dark little poem. This one was inspired by how I look and see people in the future. Which my viewpoint isn’t very bright. Comments are open.
Abysmal Mud
They are the dead
We are the dead.
They are the living
We are the living.
They are the sickness
We are the sickness.
The dead shall walk
The living shall die.
They are the present
We are the past.
They shall slip through
and contain nothing but mud.
We will slip
Down to the ground.
They came after
We came before
And before we came
They were here.
They don’t forget
We don’t forgive.
We will slip
Through his fingers.
They will be all
That is left.
Mud.
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