There is blood in that black barrel
Children tattooed with life’s ink
But you think it’s easy to define
What is right or wrong
Red lines of history
Pools of sticky memory
Daytime nightmares
Bombed out
Shell shocked
Trauma etched into their DNA
And there is nothing I can say
To make that okay
No reasoning or words
To write the wrongs away
No speech that can save the day
While children put their toys away
To go and find their friends
Digging in the dirt
Instead of playing childhood game
They’re digging children’s grave