A poem.

I can feel it forming
and I can’t stop it.
I can hear it calling out to everyone
hoping to lead them away.
I try to scream louder
so they will all stay.
But my voice is drowned out by its repetition.
I can feel it getting stronger
as more join its flocks.
I tried to build an army.
But I’m not a General.
So my ranks fled
and my army’s burst.
Now here I stand,
with my Axe held high.
I’m going to meet the Army,
and I’m going to Die.