Just a normal day, walking around
Hanging out with friends, going to the movies
Looking forward, then the left and right
Zombie dog crawling in, what is that?
Not on the screen, but on the floor
Run, panic, push, escape.
Calm down, breathe, think
He was buried months ago is what they say
Safe, but the infection is spreading
They look normal but their heart glows red
Separated and the barriers are up
A knock comes and they have to pass the test
Show me your heart!
We can’t let you in, zombie
Show me your heart!
Go away, you’re different
Years pass and there is peace
Complacency causes mixing
Zombies and people roaming the shopping center
The dead are back and they won’t leave
We thought we won, but became relaxed
Their hearts, no one is noticing
Am I the only one still asking?
I need to know
Did you get bitten?
Have you been brought back?
Your words don’t matter
You’re deceitful
Show me your heart!
That’s the only proof I’ll accept
Show me your heart!
Not your words, but the fruit
About the Creator
Robbie Nagle
Hey there. Welcome to my page. I have recently started walking out the path to writing my first novel. To allow myself other creative outlets, I’ll be using this to post some poetry and short stories that may or may not be in future novels.
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More stories from Robbie Nagle and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis6 days ago in Humans
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