...He used to fly
of what he thought
were smiles of the sky
Soared high above the horizon
beyond borders that
never touched the seas
nor the shore
nor the sands
constantly being washed away
He sang with the sunrise
dine with the sunset
dazed by the moonlight and
filled the void
of a hanging twilight
with hopes built on dreams
Dictated by a life of
seventeen bullets
But like all men
he doesn't belong to the skies
And so
he rested
underneath a cold shade
of a dying tree...