by Tom Mcmurray

Created on: August 19, 2009   Last Updated: February 22, 2010

The tall man gazed out to the West,
So razor thin against the wind.
No cover hat or comfort vest,
This stop unplanned for those who sinned.

His hands appeared like dead man's bones,
A face of sunken grey-hued pale.
Each breath would rasp with rumbled tones,
The sound of death through rattled rale.

This wraith-like vision turned around
As if no weight clung to the bone,
A curse unearthed from soulless ground
Through foul and putrid breath did moan.

No words were heard, his mouth did smile,
As lips began to break and bleed;
A laugh so low from hell's last mile
Broke free to vent his nauseous need.

From deep within the sin inside
Spewed forth a fetid fluid, foul,
A force that drenched my covered hide
With stench from deep within his bowel.

And then before my frightened eyes
This man began to disappear
And only smoke was left to rise
To leave me standing soaked in fear.

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