Macintosh In Hand

Macintosh in hand, stride in his pace
Umbrella above, respect in his gait
Sorrowful his eyes which do not rest
At the doings of the human rat race
Brother's killing brothers
Oh lord what have we become?
No better than animals
But even they spare their sons
Death, following orphans and widows
Pain paves its way for days to come

Poetry by Nabeela Altaf
Read 1167 times
Written on 2014-02-06 at 09:13

Tags Death  Pain 

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Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Definitely: You have literary knockout punch!

Bravo for putting this into words.