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Countdown
By Phalanx
Taste mutates with sunrise
Like a virus, even the microscope
Can't measure motive.
The fickle nature of choosing targets is a
delicate balance
But, words can only kill if you let them.
I knew the place of the popular species
Once upon a time.
Now
I chance immunity vector for given gouge.
The sweet pleasure of pain.
Threats are treated with extreme prejiduce
For sake of higherarchy.
Do you not realize you are so low.
Comfort is a zone far from
touch,
If you stay, you'll die there.
Find the way from
the well-up.
Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited.
Ask the author first.
Copyright 2011 Phalanx
Published on Saturday, September 24, 2011.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Comments on "Countdown"
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A former member wrote:
Honestly I wanted to point in this comment at the sentence that stroke me most but, well, there are a bunch, which is impressive in such a small number of sentences.
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On Sunday, June 9, 2013, poe_lover28
(164)
wrote:
I find myself able to connect with these words that blend in so well with my past. Everyone can connectn with this is what makes it so great other than the beauitful use of language.
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A former member wrote:
there is a welling, a hollowed urgency... that first stanza is startling... an eye-opening ride.
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On Sunday, September 25, 2011, Devilish
(2657) wrote:
Like a virus, even the microscope Can't measure motive. Well well sir... What we have here is no longer a failure to communicate, if these simple yet priceless words don't sink in somewhere... There's no help for them... Nice ...
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