steve a. manolis poet

Death's Screams

 

I fear nothing of my being,

my conscious self, cries not

except in silence, waiting death of the soul

and all things must stop, and their is no existence.

 

What of my words, 

sitting in a string of ones and zeroes

floating in the technical clouds,

have we become too interdependant with the machine.

 

What of your words,

existing in soundless waves

molecules floating never recieved

is the end so abrupt and we are thrown off our world.

 

we are really nobodies

dust covered ashes to wither away

the end of days is a new reality

without a thought to whisper us by on another poem