Children of the CraterChildren Of The CraterChildren of the Crater by The-Unmalicious-Poet
On a hill, a rock sat gently smoking
It's antennas sparking scandaloulsly
My polished marble eyes reflective
Staring daggers, cutting the lies short
On the rock, a picture
Of a small child crying out for her lost syringe
In her hand, Her teddy bear IS A HAND GRENADE!
On a picture, on a rock with callous pities
A lead dove falls to earth again
Peaceful ambiguity, ambiguous peace
On a hill, in a crater, gently smoking
I am, if anything, a poet.
choosing to write from the depths of his jumbled minds, and yes i did just refer to myself in the third person...