Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2014
It’s time to bury the guns in the ground
Black men cuffed
shot in the back of the head
little black girls with their braids
in sleeping beds
into the dark winds
I’m crying
looking at all this senseless dying
but whose to blame?
Some say the war machine
is just part of the game

People livin' too long under fever haze
throw my ticket out the window,
throw my suitcase too,
             I can’t stay here no more

Aquarius has come with the red clay pitcher
I met him by the etruscan stone well
bloodied in all our glory
we threw the system down to hell
Universal Thrum
Written by
Universal Thrum
Please log in to view and add comments on poems