Mmkay...This is when I was waiting for my bus, and it arrived late. So I was feeling murderous, but I don't really think any of you give a rat's on to the poem!


a quiet voice
goes almost unheard,
pleading for the damned.

the ferryman's job
is the cruelest of them all,
damning the unfortunate.

a slip of the coin,
a taste of blood,
the cursed innocence, forgotten.

plodding footsteps
at Hell's door--
uninviting silence fills our ears.

quick sketch of the past
reveals nothing new.
Shall we proceed, then?

call of the heron
signals the charge
the Revolution will be fulfilled!

the lone poppy stands
tall and proud.
It reminds us...

of what we were
of what we'll be
molded into one single drop of red.