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Poetry: The undead

by William Wraithe

Created on: August 11, 2011   Last Updated: August 15, 2011

Rage, rage, rage -

the tolling of the undead

is overwhelming

stagnant, smelling of death and rotting flesh.

Hunger, hunger, hunger!

It burns more fiercely than their momentary flash of life

when families huddled around tables with cooked visions,

a daughter who looked at her mother with love,

now the milky lens is content on destruction.


Wander, wander, wander!

Aimlessly, in a husk of misery

like an unconscious coma, the restless nightmare.

Can you hear me in there, dad?

Can you remember who you once were?

Nothing.


Darkness, darkness, darkness!

Consumed by a desire like that of a vampire.

It lingers in the pit of the stomach,

rancid like oatmeal,

coerced by the mayfly maggots.


Rot, rot, rot!

We live in a shit-storm now,

 the winds of change that once flourished

promising hope for a better future

is now smell of death and evacuation.

Too late for the world

to go back to that picturesque panorama,

the perfect life where people were normal,

walking hand in hand, lovers would kiss,

children playing at the park,

birds chirping in the trees.


Lost, lost, lost!

Our beloved earth is but a shadowed husk,

desert, sand, broken buildings,

littered with the undead,

we cannot eat, we cannot sleep,

darkness means death,

death means undeath,

Run! Sister is coming again,

she knows we are in here!

Mommy, when can we go outside again?

Not for a long time, dear, no one is left.

It's not safe Annmarie ...

I miss my daddy! I know, my baby, I know!

But daddy is not here anymore, he went with the angels.

No he isn't! You Lie! He's right out there waiting for me!


Despair, despair, despair!

No help is coming, no rescue is planned.

No military with guns can help us,

we are on our own! It is everyone for themselves!

My daughter was attacked today,

she never even made it out of the yard!

Her loving father crushed her neck,

ingested her little angelic face,

my tears are bittersweet

as I bury the flagpole in his brain!


Too late, too late, too late!

My family is gone -

undead and unyielding,

they thrash themselves against the doors,

trying to get in to me ...

my little girl is out there even now,

I can sense her sadness but she can't control

that she has to feed ...


I slowly walk out ...

and grab my little girl,

picking her up, my little princess that she was,

I am crying, waiting for her,

inviting her to take my life -

so I can be with my baby again.

We are a family once more ...

all I care about is being

a family once more.

I don't want to live without them ...

it is too much to bare ...

kill me.


Learn more about this author, William Wraithe.
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