April 29, 2008
Iron gates aligned in rows,
Twisted trees,
green grass growing,
typical scene for any poem.
But out there, so many things left,
Like the wanted criminal up the road
in the beautiful house with unlocked doors
and covered windows.
or the child on his bike,
who will soon find himself
with his eye through the scope
down the barrel of a gun.
a mystery that will remain forever.
or the undiscovered teen,
taking his problems out on himself,
who will soon be found lying on his carpet,
or could it be me?
the girl living her life in worry of the world.
so many things left,
but "what" we will never know.

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