the tension, the fear.
It is inescapable.
This palpable sense of dread.
The unknown,
hidden in the dark,
just around the corner.
The lament of a writhing mass
devoid of it's humanity,
divested of charity.
The evil lurks.
The frightening begins.
Scare tactics wrapped in the sacred.
Religion smiles as it slowly kills.
It creeps hidden under its pious cloak.
Few run.
Many are infected.
More will die.
The evil must be stopped.
4 comments:
who wrote this?
I did this morning.
I thought the pix was Hallowe'en Idea #12.
Nice poem.
Great prose and verbiage!
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