An acrid smell of gun-powered shooed.... <br />Against my skin, thinned and due. <br /> <br />Metal blue cold steel... <br />Icy felt, my only feel. <br /> <br />Death coming closer to thy door... <br />Rapping the rapture and capturing poor. <br /> <br />The window sill ed chilly bones... <br />Regrets yet but, breathless, me moans. <br /> <br />Hal lower aches of calcium ed frowns... <br />Relates so tender and forlornly scorned. <br /> <br />These bony bones do squawk as creak.... <br />Aged faster and brittle, that, they speak. <br /> <br />Along lost corridors of love lost days.... <br />Give to thine, thy dusty and sun droned rays. <br /> <br />Sweep me swept all cleansed and bathed... <br />Firmly spent like a termite's, wooden toy, thus chewed up in-lathe. <br /> <br />No haste and no worry... <br />Only options, are to hurriedly, scurry. <br /> <br />The cross left for a tomb-ed sense... <br />Only leave behind, ashen-ed contents. <br /> <br />No more soul in a wasted host... <br />Of all thy loved ones, we miss the most. <br /> <br />No more pain and no more sorrow... <br />Not any hours or days of tomorrow. <br /> <br />Left to weep for mine pa lo red, tint... <br />No more wept, no more hint.<br /><br />Michael Gale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-most-gun-lit-awakening/
