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Oct 2015
Listen out for the sounds of the night
When the sky is finally deprived of all light
When I find the most inspiration to fill my page
Detonations of metallic shells tipped with senseless rage
They sound the time of the witching hour
And I lay in bed shaking, distressed and twisting sour

Someone must’ve told them streets were canvases
So they filled them with blood ink like I fill papers with stanzases
I think of all the boys extinguished by the streets
And the gun-toters dominated by their inner beasts
So I preach to thieves before I begin to face a fear of death
So many bodies lie in North Minneapolis, I’m probably next
So the lethal tech fills my dreams and my dreams become nightmares
Tried teaching Smith and Wesson lessons, but there's nobody that might care

So if nobody cares, then that’s reality and I’m gonna have face it
If the streets **** me, I may as well embrace it
I’ll deal with the gang scene better than you, I don’t need breathers
If gun violence don’t matter to you, it don’t matter to me either
Pop a chrome bullet at me, another innocent’s dome
Just do as the others do, you know what they say, “When in Rome”
A poem I originally wrote in the eighth grade. This is me rewriting it entirely off of memory.
TréAllen Warner
Written by
TréAllen Warner  Minnesota
(Minnesota)   
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