Stolen Lives To Be by Ken Allan Dronsfield 

 

 

In contempt, I am, if only To Be
within a reconcilable calm mind.
Forgive and reign within just piety;
tasteless hatred, justice be damned.
A dangerous heartless killing spree;
empathetic righteousness forgotten,
selfish survive by devouring lives, as
Amazing Grace plays upon an organ.
What moves one to take so many lives?
Hell is empty, we now walk with demons.
The merciless purveyors of stolen souls;
fire bullets etched with the words, “To Be”.
Launched into the air, no lives matter here,
from the innocent schools, to parks or malls
be it child, mother, stranger or your father,
devils reign is clear, collect lives anywhere.
The digger of graves grows strong each day,
Charon plies the oars crossing the River Styx,
to the beat of the drums by the chosen ones,
fear the reapers scythe as death calls to you.
In dreams at night; or while traveling beyond
keep eyes to the sky always ready to receive
the whistling bullet with the engraving, “To Be”.

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