By Euphedra Aster
The guns fire back in a vicious recoil,
Every shot that you make makes more hate boil,
You get thrown on the ground under loved ones to others,
Millions of people like sons, fathers, and brothers,
So many loved and hated, path gone awry,
Millions, billions, drift up to the sky,
They leave you on the ground, crushed but not dead,
The last one left in a puddle of red,
Millions gone, leaving loved ones to cry,
But only the last knows how to dread.
YOU ARE READING
Walking Into Black
PoetryDon't fear death. It does nothing for you. Death is at every turn; the challenge is if you choose to accept it or not. Don't fear pain. Pain is how you learn. Pain is the side-effect of life. If you live life fearing getting hurt...can you tr...
