Dead March Poem by Patrick Szwaja
Dead March
anarchy’s ashes have fused chaos wind
the dead fall in line, the priestess of sin
for hallowed this eve they march our streets
to serve us as reminder’s of our darkest defeat
skin greyed and rotten, their innards are black
rust metal armor chinked and nicked ‘cross his back
the deepest eyes ever where none there be
with menacing bone fingers that beckon of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 8:19:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
