deepundergroundpoetry.com
Straw-Man
Fields of straw for miles
so far voices carry, wait
a raven's caw from fetid piles
desolation and bones, nary a sound of life from the slate
beyond corpses dream of lives gone long for some time now
their sand is glass, their fields are ash, and their oceans dry
a strawman stands guard, faithful at a post, and this raven's calling, how?
There can be no hope, no dreams from the waking whose lives the dead decry
more fearsome things have examined, fled from and been startled by
the lone guardian of what remains, the strawman in the field, holding hope for humanity ever high.
Published 22nd Sep 2018
Author's Note
I wrote this for my origin site, but it was inspired by something I said here.
The concept is that an apocalypse has happened, and whatever remains at an outpost of humanity is guarded by one well placed Scarecrow that has somehow remained the only guard.
The concept is that an apocalypse has happened, and whatever remains at an outpost of humanity is guarded by one well placed Scarecrow that has somehow remained the only guard.
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