RMC

I am not hot or cold
in this beating to death
I receive for being bold
I am just out of breath.

I need rest from corners
who fight to make waves,
in our journey to a coroner,
that tell us how to pray.

My body is my own
and my mind is as well.
See scars I learned stones
thrown condemn us in hell.

Do what I say not for
I’ve done the same before;
closed to me are doors
for life it is cold more.

I want to laugh but humor
in our lives serious turned to
a black and ghastly tumor
invading our sky blue.

I watch the news death
is abound and I’ve found
my eyes enjoy looking,
as I walk, at the ground.

Fighting and spite aside,
there must be a pursuit made
by two warring parties that life
needs the fighting to go away.

Weapons of war in streets,
children under a gun run
for their lives in a defeat of
what must never have begun.

The run I boldy told of
is in a life I’m scared I lay bear
in sad stares the purple stars
if I look up I hope are still there.