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WARNING: Stories on this site may contain mature language and situations, and may be inappropriate for readers under the age of 18.
THE END by Eileen Neary
posted March 22, 2010 under Poetry
Tags: poem
Broken urban desert, stale, parched
Dusted and frosted with collapsing automobiles
Skeletal juices crunch and ooze underfoot
All is dead
And as I stumble past a window I see my blackened eyes
Dry lips, death-blown hair, empty gaze
And with each step another ravaged wound
My heart begins to sputter
And when my left arm goes I don’t feel a thing
because the horde has swallowed me
New York City couldn’t save me
4 Comments (Leave a comment)
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Ooo! I’m not usually much of a fan of poetry, genre or not.
This one is pretty good, though. Leaves ya wondering:
Is the speaker a Zombie become just one of millions, or that last victim of the Horde?
Either way, it’s an eerie feeling at the end.
Comment by cdugger on March 22, 2010 @ 5:01 pm
Wow, that was awesome! Really vivid imagery.
Comment by Poops McGee on March 23, 2010 @ 9:16 pm
Poetry does not usaully do it for me but this captures the mood well. Thanks!
Comment by Mac on March 24, 2010 @ 10:01 am
Thanks guys!!
Comment by Eileen on July 20, 2010 @ 11:15 pm