(no subject)

Zombie13

And some are children. Thin, and fierce, and fast.
It takes them quickly, and it dries them out..
The old ones moan; the small dead children shout
and yell as if in playgrounds. They'll run past

you, double back. You see their teeth
and their dead eyes, and open bloodless wounds.
Their shrieks are wordless, just unthinking sounds.
And through their wounds you see dried bone beneath.

They're many. You can fight them off. You cut
them down, and trample them. Something will break
inside you. Once you thought it for hope's sake
you went on fighting. Bitter in your gut

an acid sense, that hope has told you lies.
The future's vicious jaws and mad dead eyes

The last poem of A SHAMBLE OF ZOMBIES

Zombie14

They eat as many of us as they can.
And then they slowly start to fall to bits.
It's a slow process. Cell by cell it hits.
Bones disconnect. They stumble. In a span

of weeks they will be rot, tatter and shard.
Some of us live. We hide. We eat cold food
from cans. Snare and kill rabbits. In a wood
we have a cabin. Our survival's marred

by what we've lost. The cities turn to dust
take art books music with them. We forget
all that we were,or loved or hoped for. Yet
the worst of all the things we lose is trust.

All strangers are the dead returned. Our fear
will go on killing, year by bloody year.