This is a poem I wrote about five years ago and I've decided to upload it, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership, all belongs to Garth Nix
Whispers of the Dead
You cannot see them, nor hear them,
But you know they're getting closer;
All the while they're coming,
But still you have to wait.
The Army of the Dead are closing in,
Ready to destroy all living things;
The fog is their only sign,
For they cannot appear with the sun.
Soldiers anxiously waiting,
Guns and swords at the ready.
Will they live to see another day,
Or will they perish in the fight?
Once there was only one clue,
But now another arises –
The foul stench of dead flesh,
Burning at your nostrils.
Remember when the world was peaceful,
And everywhere was calm?
No one would have believed,
That we could meet this end.
The Dead caught us off our guard;
They crossed the wall to life.
Now we must pay the price,
And join their stagnant Army.
Is there any hope for us?
Will someone save us from this hell?
What did we do wrong?
Can this really be our fate?
Then all is silent.
Nothing moves, nothing sounds,
Except the whispers in the wind,
Saying ... "They are here ... here ... here ..."
Thanks for reading and feel free to review
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