the streets of america have become a third world
My Explanation: I think the above Author's Note says a lot about this poem. I wrote this when I was extremely angry. A little girl, like maybe 5 years old, was shot by a stray bullet in a drive-by shooting. This kinda stuff really pushes me over the edge. Also the picture I have kept with the poem mirrors my anger and frustration of things that happen in our great nation.
where nameless gunfire has left a little girl killed
all our thrills spilled in red puddles on dark streets
broke peace and hope ceased like her tiny heart beat
it starts deep, pain drippin' from tear ducts
releasing screams once held in dreams where fear struck
can we claim mere luck to die at so young
before we go on to become a million no ones
grown sons and daughters the world begun to slaughter
pale bodies drowned in red and blue from blood and water
future stars draped by a flag in a holdin' cell
shivering, whoever knew it was cold in hell
standin' bold and frail staring down a last shot
in the grass rots the baby from a mass shock
before the wrath stops, it peaks at hysteria
when total chaos breaks out on the streets of america
© 2003 Joshua Stewart