War And Death Begins This Final Err Of Man Poem by Michael Gale

The days of sadness regressed so slow...
Of these morose feelings of this fact i know.

Leaves turned brown and truly breakable, and crumbling dusted, dead...
Litter softly off and about my shouldered dread.

Insanity can haunt all feelings of my head...
This long dreaded sorrow can only show how through life i've been morally drained of happiness in bled.

Look up silently as the crow of death lands so close b'neath my feet and their darkened shadow...
We all in life, must always learn to meander aimlessly as many herded lost like trance induced unknowing cattle.

We have now been misled by evil...
By a burning bush that burns almost shunted silent as a muted and blind sighted buggish bowevil.

Into the earthly bowels we crawl and churn...
Trapped by silent blindness of something we need but yet never do stumble through to finally learn.

Is it our final hoping turn? ....
Do we learn? or truly due we learn?

War must put on it's ugliest face...
Death must come to it's final disgrace.

War...
Is it Hell?
We tell no more?

Is war and death one slow unoticed part of the Ten Commandments? ...
Where be all the tiny little unoticed fine print?

Smaller and thinner than the tiniest of lint...
No noticable hint or glint.