His skin was of the toughest material;
Still, a bullet broke through.
His voice was the savior of a starving people;
His arms were a basket that carried love for his village.
His lungs were willing to take in the dirtiest breaths;
Still, a bullet broke through.
His hands were what healed a people’s illness;
His smile was the sun that grew crops for his village,
His mind was the brightest of all,
Still, a bullet broke through.
His death would be one that would sadden the people,
His spirit was the kind that stood tall no matter who lashed at him,
His heart was the hearth that warmed the world,
But someone took it all away from the people,
from the village,
from me…
When the bullet broke though.
YOU ARE READING
Beyond the Words
Poetry"A poem begins with a lump in the throat." (Robert Frost) Collection of poems, Volume One (2012-2013) © Copyright by Dahlia Pimentel. All rights reserved.
