For when it's an hour before midnight,
And the darkness is disturbed,
By a whip-crack, thundering boom,
That breaks the moonlight, quite perturbed.
My Pulse is jittering in my throat,
I count to 9, 10, 11,
And pray that all not damned to hell,
Will find their way to heaven.
For when that bullet echoes,
'Cross the sky, urged on by wrath,
Striking lighting through the heart,
Of any person in its path,
I begin to wonder whether it's the fault of any man,
That we decide to blame instead the weapon in his hand.
YOU ARE READING
In My Mind's Eye
PoetryIf life is but a dream, I will never achieve lucidity. #6 in Poetry (2/14/2022) Runner-Up in the Metaphorically Spoken category of the Summer Sun Awards, 2016 Cover by Seth Yurchisin (IG: @sjyurchisin Note that none of th...
