Quiet.

A poem I wrote for a story I was writing a while ago now. The story was essentially another 'disease wipes out most of the population' scenario, the poem was to be the introduction, one of the main characters was going to be a poet. I might write a variation of the plot actually, eh, anyways:

Quiet

Rain now falls,

On streets of grey,

In church halls,

None now pray,

These lonely streets,

Now lay torn,

It's past defeats,

We few mourn,

We wait for them,

Each and every day,

We few condemned,

In a world of decay,

Out of the frying pan,

Now into the fire,

Alone, I once ran,

As the flames grew higher,

The streets seem so lonesome,

My body aches with pain,’

"Hmm...What rhymes with lonesome?"

...

"Damn it."