Burnt the last time,
throw out every chance to return.
Reborn, under the guise of dead skin,
Better to return again
known to the world,
as the last exile
I still remember the day you were born,
the days before and the last moments we had. You’re gone.
They forgot what its like.
Or never knew.
None of their children sacraficed for the greater good.
We see every dollar slipping in your pockets made fat,
disregarding every soul that ever fought back.
Old men, death of just another child.
Congregating around the longest mile.
They don’t know what it’s like.
They’re not the last young minds to be crushed under foot,
bought and sold-out, stale amendments of truth.
Their inaliable right, in the face of those who lied,
trampling all those who stood up for those who died.
You’ll never know what it’s like.
I hope you don’t.
17 more lives, gone before their time.
Your sweet daughter struck down by nine bullets fired.
So many parents trapped amidst a torrent of sleepless nights.
One voice united to rise, from millions of restless minds.
Reborn to defy and fight for their lives.
Your face shines in this photo I found.
Back when I knew.
Those who love, find a way to break through.
So smile like it’s your last day on earth.
The day your face froze
cradling the silent moments for all their worth.
Time stole our minutes, traded for seconds,