Monday, July 2, 2012

I tried a poem this morning.

As I went down to the river
I decided not to pray,
Instead I sat on the beach
and watched the children play.

Though no god heard my voice
He could not have yelled, 
If he could see their smile
He'd concur with my choice.

In that moment I knew
that I had to go back,
to sit behind bars
For the men that I slew.

As I walk through the gate
I think what I've done,
"Why am I different?"
Children are born without hate.

As the shock runs through me
my blood boils in the chair
On this wooden throne 
My soul will be freed.  


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