The Queue!

The Queue of exhausted starving people

snaked back over many streets

edging its way along at a snail’s pace

just to receive a loaf of bread

soldier patrolled showing no respect

had no choice but to accept!

 

Once smart clothes shabby and worn

but wore an identity label

nobody talked or dared show emotion

money had become worthless

for the once working classes despair

their dignity stripped bare!

 

Marshall law stopped looting and riots

money had no value anymore

towns and cities lay in ruins and gutted

from fires and bomb damage

the stench of sewage death and smoke

made everybody choke!

 

The rich had been hidden safely away

in vast walled enclaves

their lives protected and unaffected

looking down like gods

upon the now decimated population

in a world of damnation!

 

But within this prophesy created hell

a brilliant light on a young man fell!

 

The Foureyed Poet.

 

 

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Fair maiden

Fair maiden walking by my side

together we chatter I cannot hide

our feelings of love my miss Jane

from blushing it is hard to refrain

sunny strolling on a path of stone

the two of us are happy alone.

 

Cherished hours united we share

the time is short both are aware

soon I must return to the war

a chance I may return no more

my king and country I am loyal

to protect our liberty and our soil.

 

Fair maiden here with you I pray

to be back for our wedding day

if this is not truly meant to be

my love this day remember me

not in a mud filled putrid trench

with comrades and human stench!

 

Never forget those  lives cut short

freedom for all is why we fought!

 

The Foureyed Poet.

The Pub Sign!

The Pub sign depicted a horned devil like creature

the exterior had an unwelcome feel

this was the attraction to visitors the weird feature

it certainly had that ghoulish appeal

rumours told of witchcraft and human sacrifice

the entire building was not nice!

 

Sacrificial blood its said was used to paint the sign

implements of torture and knives

adorned dark walls of irregular and uneven design

where a stench of death survives

from every corner there seems some movement

often faint voices in torment!

 

Hooded figures are often seen inside and without

though often considered spectral

stories suggest some are mortal creating doubt

in caves below the cult goes on

the practice never ended the dead cannot rest

and with visitors emotions jest!

 

The village a hamlet lost in a medieval time line

the old pub the central core

the church now a ruin after going into decline

an unexplained fire years before

the pub sign draws your attention like a beacon

causing resistance to weaken!

 

Yet the tourists come in search of its unholy past

even the sceptics leave unnerved

tainted by questions of  its history the legend cast

whatever the truth its observed

that repugnant awareness takes away rationality

that has led to insanity!

 

It start with the first glance of The Pub Sign!

 

The Foureyed Poet.