Monday, December 2, 2019

At the End We Are But Wreckages - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

At the End We Are But Wreckages

Here at the end we are but wreckages
Holed and hulled and breached, listing and adrift
Sending for help on silent radios -
We are but menaces to navigation

Worn out hulks, battered in the battles of life
Great victories, sometimes, and more defeats
And our strongest weapons now are only
Plastic pill cases molded in color codes

Here at the end we are but wreckages
Except – except when I remember you

1 comment:

Verlie Burroughs said...

We're doomed. I am not a Robot.