The Drums Of Death Poem by Thomas Ware

The Drums Of Death



The no time left, I fear,
The end is near.
The apocalypse is coming,
The suspense is utterly numbing,
And we are all succumbing,
To the doom-drums that are drumming.
No one stands,
Against the hands,
Of the Devil.
Demons roam the earth,
Evil things are birthed,
That take away all the mirth
In life.
And so we are all doomed,
We breathe in deadly fumes,
Our home becomes our tomb.

Saturday, May 3, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: apocalypse
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
This one is REALLY old.
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Lyn Paul 03 May 2014

The Drums are beating for us all yet it is what we achieve whilst waiting. Thank you Thomas

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