The Wreck Poem by M. Richard Smith
The Wreck
Turned and twisted, angled steel,
Scattered webs of glass.
Numbing pain too deep to feel.
Crimson pools on grass.
Flashing lights of blue and red.
His sight begins to fade.
Wailing echoes in his head,
But deaf to all that's said.
Room so white,
Light so bright.
He heeds the voices calling.
Searching, seeking,
Panic wreaking.
His empty soul is falling.
Then, Darkness!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 2:00:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Liked the pace and rhyming and especially the abrupt ending. -c