THE child sits naked and beat,
by a man who calls himself the
king, how sad the fat king thinks,
not even jesus will dry those tears,
not even jesus.
THE child hits his teens, he doesnt
know it yet, but one day he will
put a bullet in this fat kings head.
just one.
HIS mother is dieing of the big C,
the kid sees every thing that death
offers, still his mom is better off
dead, for theres a war in this place,
and the fat king is about to go
down.
a strong poem with justice ever present ever longed for finally to surface a fine poem
EIGHT HUNDRED AND NINETY FIVE BAD DREAMS, NOT BAD BROTHER I HAVE THEM BUT I CAN NEVER REMEMBER THEM, THANK GOD wARM REGARDS AJS
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
DAVID...SAD& IMPACTFULL....A HOUSE OF SORE DISTRESS..... FORCEFULL WRITE...10...'''''''''''''''FRANK