The First Book

Words are out, words are on the streets The smell of gunpowder in the air, In protest, in anguish Wounds transpire to tears; Empty promises bubble up It is a strange, tangled world, We don’t know what to believe – Each and every one Interpret, judge and spread The words, Until Every ounce of truth is lost. Someone lays lifeless On the streets, And we don’t get to know What claimed his life; If it was a fight he tried to put up Or, Did he dig down too deep? Stories are told That he was the one with a shady past, And believed too, We care for stories, not truth. We read the about the woman Stripped and raped Till the last layer of shame Was peeled off, Hers and so many other names That surfaced in the news, Lived with such agony That can’t be imagined, Irony that such brutal tales Have more food for thought, Than sympathy. Words are out that Rich are … Read entire article »