-I see the skid marks on
the highway sliding into
the left lane, then
turned hard back toward
the right; weren't there
yesterday, must have
came about late in the
dark of their last night.
-There's a hunk of torn metal
laying in the ditch, blood on
the shoulder, a stillness in the air
which foretells, these souls
shall grow no older... It sent
shivers sparking up my cold
spine, while watching
callous cars crawl slowly by...
knowing so easily the time
could've been mine.
-The eventuality of everything crosses the line; listen,
hear the mourning sound... we are all
here bound, temporarily to this old
earth crawling, moving toward the
Reaper of Wreakage, who one day for us
shall come a calling...
To see people go this way, especially if they’re young... But a good thing you take from this—a reminder of our mortality.-Glen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the internal rhyme in lines 11 and 13: shoulder, older. I'm not much of a poet or a scholar, but I think you mean WRECKAGE instead of WREAKAGE, in both the title and second-to-last line. Love the poem. Really makes you think about life and choices.