The Reality Rules

They are hordes

They are lost
They are paced
And they last

Do not break down
Do not be still
Do not fight wreckless
And do not fall

We are the remaining
We are the hope
We are distopian
But we grow

They are not fear
They are not the end
They are not stopping
But they can't defend

With Steady Minds

We watch it wasting away in movement

An abhorred thraldom of continuous steps
The careless cudgeling of someone's love
A ballistic shock wave sending frigidity to our hearts

But our castellated homes do not shout "Welcome!" to the dead
So gladly we become the Walking's misanthrope
A cavernous gloom flies with each fire we release
Our stoic vigilance will outlast this ruin

Revenir

He dives under at last

His loss of self comes fast
Pains are all but burnt out
Traces of times gone now
His mind throws all away
Eyes search and fix a gaze

Don't get lost here
We all bring faith
It's not just fear
We'll hold your place

Yet he didn't know us
Our shouts, screams, not enough
His turn brought us so close
Some join his comatose
Logic breeds our cold choice
A last flame's metal voice

Walking Me

I fall onto crumbled ground

Their steps unceasing trod toward
Stretching out, we reach for life
Scrambling, teetering me

Standing with unbalanced legs
They still hold with violence
Sinking in, we bleed as one
Struggling, enduring me

I'm fading out of the pain
Blood slows from the dripping wounds
Rising up, we feed this ache
Shuffling, walking me

The Breathing Boys

The breathing boys battle those death lost.

Their minds and mettle calm tremored hands,
Making guns to greatness in bleak lands.
It's cold and chaos that keeps their breath,
Purging the sickness, scorching those left.

But the world gets lost in entropy.
Recovering the rubble does naught,
The aftermath leaves us wrecked, distraught.
Then rises the tribes and savage wars.
Kill the Walking, it's us we abhor.