My poetry

Hailstorm

You shoot at me with bullets of hate,
some go in and some ricochet.

Wrong, damaged, mistake, crier,
these are the words you fire.

My shield was once colorful and intact,
now it has become dull and cracked.

You once a good friend,
are now a liar and we've come to a dead-end.

While your searching for ammunition,
I'm slowly repairing my broken condition.

My protection is not iron,
have you ever thought of a ceasefire?

My time has come,
And I've degraded to this sad outcome.

I was once bright, cheery, and happy,
now I am lonely, depressed, and snappy.

How did I come to wear this bleak uniform?
It's because bullets of hate rained down like hailstorm.