Death-prone, the bodies
forked in mutiny
against the collar
of the uncooked plague,
your destiny cleansed
with the dark gesture.
By whom the paths are prepared,
to sink upon the grill,
death pitches forward still
before him, in reverence.
For The Dead Of The Revolution
Ernst Toller
(1)
Poem topics: dark, destiny, gesture, death, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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