Shadows

[Blade]

Remember my poem entitled Shadows? Well, they just sent me a letter saying that I won for best amateur poem of the year. I'm getting money for it, too. Here it is, it'll be in books and everything.


Shadows<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
Were<o:p></o:p>
Swarming<o:p></o:p>
They<o:p></o:p>
Changed<o:p></o:p>
The<o:p></o:p>
Morning<o:p></o:p>
The day emanates no light<o:p></o:p>
They transform it to night<o:p></o:p>
Shadows of death, ethereal, without breath<o:p></o:p>
The sunrise ceases and dies<o:p></o:p>
Asphyxiated, the end is nigh<o:p></o:p>
The moon returns once more<o:p></o:p>
A tired mother home from the store<o:p></o:p>
Hypothesizing one bets he’s having fun<o:p></o:p>
Inebriated with the guys<o:p></o:p>
But gone with the sun are our lives<o:p></o:p>
The virulence of lunacy rarely discerns husbands from wives<o:p></o:p>
It taints all, she’s just another to fall<o:p></o:p>
Into its grasp when the soldiers fly<o:p></o:p>
“Precipitated, the rain felt of lye”<o:p></o:p>
This is what the survivors say<o:p></o:p>
Nobody believes it to this day<o:p></o:p>
Man’s genius cruel, converts anger to fuel<o:p></o:p>
The worst mind-whittler is that even Hitler<o:p></o:p>
Was vindicated by far and wide<o:p></o:p>
The sun shines no more on warm earthen faces<o:p></o:p>
Instead horror and deformity are found in their places<o:p></o:p>
“This winter’s not cold” says a survivor who is old<o:p></o:p>
Looking towards bland, hole-mottled land<o:p></o:p>
Masticated, just like the sky<o:p></o:p>
Dead bodies spewn, buildings are strewn<o:p></o:p>
He looks towards Big Ben hoping for the tune<o:p></o:p>
Alas, that silly quirk does not make it work<o:p></o:p>
The only question he forms after witnessing man’s scorn<o:p></o:p>
Abbreviated, it simply is, “Why?”