February 15, 2018

Yet again our kids are being prayed upon

After being preyed upon.

It's getting hard to stay up on

The number of deaths that weigh upon

Every person who has laid down on

Common sense protection.

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The hairs turn grey up on

The heads of those who slave on

For the ideals of days bygone.

Mourners with their drapes drawn,

Mounds of dirt on freshly splayed lawn.

No one moved for the next election.

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I wouldn't wish this day upon

My worst enemy, however they wrong.

Turning our children loose to play along,

We send them to their graves anon,

Watching helpless as the slaying goes on.

No one wants to treat the infection.

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Pray or don't prey:

It doesn't matter anyway

When your kid never has another birthday.