A Painful Truth
A figure of death
Looms over the land
A nuclear scythe
Is borne in his hand
Wearing a mantle
Of consuming fire
He lights for our world
A funeral pyre
I flee in terror
But find no escape
For all of this land
Shows signs of his rape
Where-ever I go
He is always there
Stripping the land
And leaving it bare
I hear his cruel laughter
A malicious sound
While his victims’ corpses
Are thick on the ground
He’s dealing out death
And pain on a whim
There can be no way
Of hiding from him
But now I am running
So desperate to hide
For I’ve glimpsed a truth
I cannot abide
The horror flows through me
For now I can see
There is no escape
This figure is me!
© Phil Gibson 2011
Written by Phil Gibson, first posted to People's Poetry Bookshelf on 17 February 2013.
View more at Phil's blog, the Garret.
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