The Moon glistens down bright,
All over Every City,
And the guns that are free to roam,
Shine just as light and pretty,
But…
…they carry a sentence,
Too many people are able to finish,
All because of freedom,
And an old worn-out amendment.
When death knocks at your door,
And your children,
Fall to the floor,
Their blood draining away,
The gore and entrails blown astray,
By the pretty and loud light,
So also goes life,
Their future…
Gone in the strife.
Will you finally see?
In the blood moon light,
This could,
Have been,
A peaceful night.
Many humans that walk this land,
Care nothing about the guns in hand,
Until it takes the heart of one,
Who they have cherished,
From the day they were born.
So now can you answer,
Questions about the carnage?
What could you have done,
To save the bloody corpse,
The life that is running,
All over your floor?
So many times,
The answer,
That child,
Was right in front of you,
Yet your Freedom to carry,
Carried a worth that was more,
Then the precious baby,
Dead on your floor.
The moon above
Is now covered in blood,
It drips down from the high sky,
Stains the rivers and the seas,
Here come the bloody roses,
To lay on the coffins of dead children,
Bloody roses full of memories.
Of what might have been,
Of all that is left,
Written in blood is a question,
That is now upon us,
Will we ever be free?
Or let petty life theft,
Roam with glee?
Blood money exchanges hands,
High up on The Hill,
They get what they want,
We vote in their rights,
While we deal with body counts,
Shots ring out,
And freedom rings,
To keep the government running,
They'll never fall down,
Those heads on high,
Puppet strings too strong to unwind.
These children are trying,
To have fun in the daylight.
The blood on the money,
Is not blood from the moon,
This blood runs in daylight,
From the bodies of children.
Sitting at desks,
Or in reading circles,
Recess for running,
In classrooms learning,
In the streets playing,
In the neighborhood yards,
Buying their sweet treats,
Ice cream and candy bars.
So I ask again,
What is the number that you need,
To rip the guns,
Out of unstable hands,
And save the lives of children,
Who…
Are…
All...
Falling...
Down!
The Musings of a Changing Writer 