Gnome de Plume

Zombie Author

Read his poems

He Walks In Bloody

He walks in bloody like a blight,
With seeping sores and wounds that ooze;
And all that’s worst of dark and fright
Spread with each dreadful head he chews:
All swallowed in the undead night
Through which his corpse is wont to cruise.
One bite the more, one life the less,
He’s half consumed some nameless grace,
With grave dirt on each raven tress
That falls across her caved in face;
Whose eyes, fear-frozen wide, express
How hellish is their dwelling place.

And on that face with bitten brow,
And chewed off cheek once innocent,

The smiles that won are frowning now,

And tell of nights of horror spent
In bone-yards where the zombies chow
On headcheese their red chompers rent.

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