August 17, 2016Bioman, Flash, Poem, Poet, Poetry, The Daily Writ, Uncategorized Leave a comment Deathrace We’re in a Deathrace with our oldest friends Who shall be first to inter then die when all shall say Halleluiah and Goodbye, Good-riddance and damn ye to your soul Before they all consider their next move to be able to say they are the Last of the line? When doesn’t their new age scientist outlook become God-like And so it goes to the end of their outcome, their death themselves. Already I can sense them preying upon me As I slender-hooked hold on to my independence And my sanity. Copyright B E Saunders 2016 Share this:TwitterFacebookPrintLinkedInEmailLike this:Like Loading...