The Legend of the Survivor

A post-apocalyptical collection of stories.

Part 1: The Legend

He was the man that lived,

A living legend they say,

The legend says that he killed many men,

He survived the apocalypse,

And now he lives,

A king among the almost walking dead.

His citizens he protects from enemies.

The world was different back then.

We had crops and friends in plenty,

Many of them passed away,

Dead by doings of nuclear junkies,

A bunch of warheads.

At the break of dawn the compound awakes to growls,

Tearing at the windows.

The zombies swarm from everywhere around.

The sun rises to the sounds of mindless brains,

Many humans at the time were equally insane.

The rise among us happened on the very worst day,

We woke up to the camp looking like a war zone,

Grenades of half dead heads were thrown,

To celebrate the descendent of the last of Earth's descendants

Part 2: Scavengers

My mom was the one who showed me the ropes on how to live. We lived without a concept of how the world might have been in the past. The last days it was hard to find what we needed and the trading went wrong. We ended up losing all of our belongings that we had to a band thieves.

Next passed a band of musicians. Their constitutions said it all, sorry we can't help you if we don't have anything also. Next passed a radioactive isotope unit that told us that five miles down the road lies a town. Finally a ray of hope as we made our way to our unknown destination. 

Part 3: Disentanglement

The pope had passed,

The American dream ceased to last.

The lady from the other table,

The bar in our memories was left unstable.

Radioactive alcohol that was still drinkable for the ones high ridolic,

Left us desiring.

Our immunity was strong,

And sipped our poison.

Last man standing was the game we played,

No longer left unscathed we prayed,

A nice price of an arm and a leg.

Maybe your life if you're susceptible to radioactivity.

The pope passed,

The American dream ceased to last.

We gave in to our animalistic mindless past.

Part 4: Old Hollywood Days

It's far past sundown

And the sky is looking rundown

Baby It's just me and you.

The fallout can change the color of the sky,

Suck in the fumes and get high

Just don't go blue.

Just don't go blue

Don't go clueless like the zombies baby

Don't go blue

Remember the Hollywood runways

The sun is hotter these days

The red carpets are past their due.

Look out at the new faces

Wandering around endlessly at slow paces

I'll stay here with you

Just don't go blue

Don't go clueless like the zombies looking at the sky 

Don't go blue

Oh… Baby…

Part 5: Social Fallout

The desert with sand dunes, stood still ,silent under the sun.

Every time I see those empty faces I'm reminded of my son,

The warriors with the war wounds fell off one by one.

They didn't deserve it,

The action and the beat downs,

Another group lost to the radioactive horde

Could do nothing but harm anymore.

The man who states the mirage sees,

Gives in to mindless dreams,

He is the man who leaves us,

Falls off of the tree

May he rest in peace

He went blue,

In the deceased blue sea of zombies.

Live under my roof and you'll find peace,

Out here in these radioactive seas,

We've got the guns, 

For we're the lone survivor.

We run this guarded town,

Pay your dues and receive protection from the blues,

We could care less if you don't and you go mindless.

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

You should split this up into three shorter poems

[Phillip Wolke]

I've been busy, but I plan on splitting them

[Davidgeo]

Word... 3x

[Phillip Wolke]

Well there's five parts to the story. The whole point of writing this was to make five different outlooks on the same wasteland.

How would you divide it the work?