The Abode - Poetry

Life,a mystery to them,
Unknown and unheard of.

To take it and consume,
are well written in their wiring.

Known and unknown,
Were the uncertainties revolving around the day.

Tears of blood they feast upon,
Who say are these vile creatures?

Creatures not a word to be used,
in the fear of loosing ones only valuable asset.

Corpses strewn over there and ever,
they merely walk the walk of death.

O' say can you hear me,
Death would be the sweetest gift to be bestowed.

Photo by Alan Labisch on Unsplash