Poems 5

Shall I compare thee to the somber dead?
Thou art more mobile and more desperate.
Rough winds don't touch a coffin-buried head,
And funerals hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often cause the dead things to decay;
And every life from life sometime declines,
By chance, or since you've gnawed its limbs away.
But thy eternal moaning shall not fade
Nor lose possession of such "life" thou hast;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal mad undeath thou last,
So long as men have brains on which to feed,
So long lurch you, in everlasting greed.

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There once lived a  man with  a zombie defense plan;

He loaded his ammo and had a gun for each hand.

He wore a tactical vest  packed with gear, ready for combat, for anything , he feared.

With a long knife on his hip, and one secured to his back, he slipped on his black gloves, ready for the attack.

As the undead started gathering around,  he stepped  from the shadows, and mowed dozens down.

He was quite proud of himself and what he had done, as he yelled out in excitement “come get some !”

His rifle blasted away when he heard a small click, so he changed to his pistols real damn quick!

Then his head turned sharply as his ears heard a sound, “Daddy are you finished playing the game, ’cause you look like a clown!

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