This poem just came to me, and flowed from my mouth to the page. Not my best work, but it's raw and untouched.

It's Time, My Son

Walking ahead, eyes down
Blurred images flashing all around
Parting ways for huddled pass
Grouching tired souls harass

Walk a little faster, hands to capote
Coughing gravel, hands to throat
Stop a second, take a breath
Soon its here, time for death

Mounting lines, excited talk
Eyes down, continued walk
Screeching tires, light to red
Lying still, asphalt to head

Raspy gasps, blurs surround
Echoes blaring, alarms sound
Tears cascading, pain galore
Angels singing, Heaven's door.

Poetry by Shas Ramlogan
Read 1065 times
Written on 2006-04-23 at 06:05

Tags Death  Loneliness 

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text

Raw emotions portrayed--brillant!

Mischa Ash Brookes
is a beautifuly executed, flow of thought poem that gives the reader an outside view of a man looking in

Jon Hanover
I do like this with it's trance/lullabye feel in rhthym. What though is a " capote " ?

Raw and unusual but very good.