Stop ItA Poem by Mike Michaels
City crushec like a parchment ball
Pulled apart, no symmetry The terrible things young men Visit upon old men, women Children wail, lost, alone There is nowhere to go, hide Rounds roar in, crash, crush Then the rich clear the rubble Buils vilas on bones and blood All the while calling for more and
© 2024 Mike Michaels |
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Added on April 22, 2024 Last Updated on April 22, 2024 Author
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