I It seems like a nice place to die

Seems like a nice place to die

Old man lies on park bench
A blanket of oaks throws a protective shadow
round the shell shocked carcass of his war torn memories.
Flower beds like freshly filled graves spouting
skeletons of past petal stained glories.
Willow pattern bridge rainbows its way
to the promise of tranquil oblivion.
It seems like a nice place to die.

Young girl lies in cardboard stench
Weather battered coat wrapped in dust shrouded furrows
round the ravaged carcass of her whore torn misery.
Knotted arms streaked with tell tale veins flouting
needled scars of past poppy stained glories.
Chalk mask face, eyes hollowed away
into promised tranquillised oblivion.
It seems like a nice way to die.

Small child lies in main street trench
Life shattered buildings in crumbling decay narrow
round the bomb-blast carcass of their forlorn history.
Masked faces, twisted in hatred, shouting
battle cries from past passion stained glories
Hopeless dreams crumble into grey,
false promises of tranquil oblivion.
It seems like a nice time to die.