The sun
A bullet hole
Burning through
The grey-white sky
Waiting on a train
At the crossing
Traffic standing still
Graffiti strewn boxcars pass
Artful dodgers
On steel canvas'
Leaving their unsung scars
Smoky music fills my head
One of those moments
In my memory scrapbook
Thoughts of one who
Used to make me know
All was good with the world
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
The sun
A bullet hole
Burning through
The grey-white sky
Waiting on a train
At the crossing
Traffic standing still
Graffiti strewn boxcars pass
Artful dodgers
On steel canvas'
Leaving their unsung scars
Smoky music fills my head
One of those moments
In my memory scrapbook
Thoughts of one who
Used to make me know
All was good with the world
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