The good ones


Torment is knowing the cost
And counting it again
And again,

While the dying lay moaning
Only in need of touch
To die with dignity.

The good ones do die
Anyway, the words we
Tormented hear,

Circling among sad
Mothers and angry
Brothers who stare

With the doubt we
Knew they would when
Again we counted

As the last breath
Wheezed in spittle
Into the frozen air.


About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s