Posted in Gruesome poems

Apocalypse Blues

 

 

The sky rains blood

The Mississippi runs dry

Memphis is a dead town

Not one squeak, peep, or cry

 

The sky rains red

Zombies stagger down Beale

Humans lay gutted in the street

On their skins, the unholy start to peel

 

The sky is crying

The wind is weeping

Greasy entrails are flying

As the corpses start eating

 

There is nothing like an apocalypse

To silence the music on Beale

Because it is sort of hard to sing the blues

When you are a zombie’s tender meal.

 

 

 

 

By A Snyder

Author:

Just someone who likes good music, beer, poetry and books. I work as a third shift manager at a domestic violence shelter. I like cats. I like comedy. Love to laugh and be outrageous.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s