Wreakage Poem by Smoky Hoss

-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...