Sunday, October 19, 2014

Douglas Polk- Three Poems

The Contagion

the sickness spreads,
along with the Ebola,
yet its presence real,
seen in the moment,
hands extended,
remaining unshaken,
people nervously go about their day,
looking out for only themselves.

The Contest

martyrs made,
day after day,
while the political games continue to be played,
the contest deadly,
no side will ever win,
the score kept,
by the numbers of martyrs made,
and the actions taken,
day after day.

An Autumn Day

winds blow and leaves whirl to the ground,
days lived,
and ended,
shuffled through,
and ignored,
crunching under foot,
the cold wind continues to blow,
empty the ache in the soul.

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