Midnight Pub

Ending Eld (an exercise in writing poetry quickly in simple meter)

~softwarepagan

I am a son of the end of time

who cannot be a man,

yet somehow poisoned as I am,

I tremble as I stand.

Can I cut out the rotten mass

where once I had a mind?

Perhaps I shudder just to think

of all therein I'll find.

People once were sound and hale

of body and of soul,

Today however, deep inside,

we seek to fill some hole

with worthless trinkets, wasted time

and nothing that we need.

It all serves only in the end

an evil-driven greed

which seeks to squeeze ill-gotten gain

from every piece of us.

Nothing sacred, nothing safe

from their unbridled lust.

It seems the end of things is coming;

it seems so plain to see.

Yet in this too there is a comfort:

for soon we shall be free.


tracker

Beautifully written! Hail to the skald!

reply

softwarepagan

Thank you!

reply