None of the taps work willingly,
In this dry and barren place
There’s no memory of clean water
Or of a friendly face.
There’s no hope of finding green now
That the worlds been laid to waste,
No hope of grace or mercy
From this post-human soldier-race.
There’s no dignity or spirit
Within the city gates,
The undead rule the earth now
And our chances aren’t that great.
Still some strive to form community
And to offer warm embrace,
Because when we offer love in the pestilence
We find life where once was hate.
Monday Poem- “Zombie Land”