this poem is based on a weird dream I had
[ well it was a really good nightmare ] :

They go off marching
to wage war upon a distant land,
just so they can die in this time gone mad.

As I stand on the wind-blown field
counting the number of corpeses,
nothing can be seen
except the bloodied face of the
Clock Tower;
it's impassive Hands annocing
when the end of the world
will come to pass.


I have no title for it yet.
Thinking about making a picture out of it.

if you like it, make a post at my profile or add yourself to my
friend list and I'll send you more poems.

I'm even taking request for different kinds of poems.