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