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RIOT
December 16, 2007
Bombs, fire, war.
Air is thick with blood.
Freedom dying on the floor,
upon the sweat and mud.
Guns, sticks, stones.
Air is thick with blasts.
Rights were broken just like bones,
were right, but could not last.
Words, anger, shouting.
Air is thick with hate.
Character now doubting,
fought, but was too late.
Harmless, little, name.
Air is thick with ache.
It’s funny how one little word,
can cause a heart to break.
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