The gnarlers of the night
come seeking their prey,
with spikes and false-runed stones.
Alleys wash up the desperate fodder
who beg and grovel for more sweet poison,
that stains cities, drains life.
Only the merciful few stand against them.
Scoop up the fallen.
Apply pressure to the wound
that continuously seeps.
– Miki Byrne
© 2016, poem, Miki Byrne, All rights reserved
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