May 2015
The seconds, hours
The world in a shroud.
There's no where to run
All one does is cower.
The days go by
Dead men deny
An elaborate lie,
Till the day that they die.
Hope trickles away
Just as blood,
From each corpse that lay
Red runs wild
Wild like the fires at night.
There is no solitude here,
Once, free men, now fear
When their world is run
Under The Barrel of The **Gun.
The world in a shroud.
There's no where to run
All one does is cower.
The days go by
Dead men deny
An elaborate lie,
Till the day that they die.
Hope trickles away
Just as blood,
From each corpse that lay
Red runs wild
Wild like the fires at night.
There is no solitude here,
Once, free men, now fear
When their world is run
Under The Barrel of The **Gun.
A military coup. A world in turmoil, the gun is the most vicious ruler to ever come to rise in the history of the human race.
(24/M/New Zealand)
Please log in to view and add comments on poems
