rhymeguy Posted July 19, 2009 Share Posted July 19, 2009 (edited) The Plague Horses and wagons over rust red clay carried the dead away that day. The living there left could neither go nor stay, nothing to do but wait, wander and pray. Wait to be told that they too had died; wander the shadows where the waiting cried; pray that another Would be taken and tried; they might be spared the long final ride. Waiting is wasted, prayers go unheard. Living is tenuous, dying assured. The order is set. The die has been cast. When, is irrelevant, first or last. When it was over no one was spared. Nobody cried. Nobody cared. The last ones to die lay where they fell. There was no one to guide them to heaven or hell. When they were found a great pyre was set. The flames licked their bone without regret. Their ashes were blown across the annals of time and spread throughout the words of this rhyme. Their memories' now entered in this book of the lost. Their souls now counted and tallied the cost. Alas now they rest; their story is told. They lived, loved and died both the young and the old. Edited July 30, 2009 by rhymeguy Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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