Grey Giants

The grey giants scrape the sky

When they stand up

Only for a limited time

A thousand eyes and each

one is ruff

Every shoulder bump

is another gun shot

Another fallen giant, another mass

Grave

Children clasp their hands

When their mothers tell them

to pray  though

They find it hard to keep their

eyes closed

When silhouettes are all that remain

   of these formal smiles

God grant serenity to the lost 

child

Lets let the tired Finally get

some sleep

We are the crazies those that

dream

Dream of hearing a heart beat

Not just the sound of distant feet

Nor the repeating screech of

the preachers preach

The racing day, that they try to

 Fill with more than they got

You can fill it up, but it

Just sounds like bills in the cup

Lust for the fucked

The Whiskey bloods

These streets map out

your veins

Life spits rust in your face

All the angels on the giants

Shoulders fall from grace

But wait, we gotta back

track, rewind, retake

Find our place

Another mother

prays or cries

as she watches 

her only child

fall into that

mass grave

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Such power and sadness in this poem.
"God grant serenity to the lost
child"
Many statement are true in this poem. I saw mass graves in my time. I seen old people and woman/men crying for the hate of man. I believe one person can start a wave. The people of peace and kindness must stand as one. Or like in your words.
"You can fill it up, but it
Just sounds like bills in the cup
Lust for the fucked"
A amazing poem. Thank you.
Coyote

[Coyote Poetry]

I sent this poem to myspace and facebook. Your words are like knifes in a open wound. Need attention.