Death spills from the ink of the newspaper,
Wars unended, bombs dropped,
And a paedo on every street corner.
Used to be able to live,
Not like today when you run the risk
Of being shot or stabbed the moment
You walk out of the door.
I wanna go back to a time when it was safe
When Bob and Joan where King and Queen,
And hoodies did not exist.
Our flaw is in our humanity,
We are unable to avoid it
As the hand that helps us
Becomes the hand that holds the gun.
Finger pressed against a little red button
And then the world goes….
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem