F. L. Riker

Images from Hell F. L. Riker

DYING TIME War is an angry dimensionOf souls all bloodied and torn, Good minds all wasted everydayAnd the hometown people mourn. Intertwined in a memory blockAre scenes from this horrid time, The illicit odor of dying fleshAnd another mountain to climb. Then roses start to grow nowIn all the fields of pain, Fertilized only by the blood of manThe dead, the wounded and insane, The dying time is gone for meBut still lingers in my mind, Fingers of hate behind my eyesSqueezing nerves throughout they bind. Now only death will healThese crazy thoughts in me, Storming through the waves of warBlood and death is all I see, The flowers bloom in that far off landBut when will the roses grow for me, Upon my death is the likely timeNurtured and fertilized by only me.