Email to sign up to receive news and updates

Found Poetry 1,043


shells on the smouldering grass
trenches like marrow
bone edge misery
I lie there burned
my future narrow
mortality a memory
a bundle held by thread
taste your own throat
the system made this red

This poem was created from Walden by Henry Thoreau. Click here to get Walden.

Please anonymously VOTE on the content you have just read:


Please show me a randomly selected poem

If you enjoyed any of my content, please consider supporting it in a variety of ways: