Stained Gray Walls

Pain stained red

Gained with lead

Bullet wounds

Gunpowder

Sounded louder

Than the silence

In most sense

Is more sore

Silent

Violent

Lightening pain

Blood struck

Without luck

Of the mucked up

Plucked

Thunderstruck

Children of the smith

Of the rites

Of starlite nights

In timeless sights

Those lost and forgotten

Those never meant to be begotten

Sought the high

But lie in the grass

Like broken glass

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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