taken from free photo source
To what end,
Do the bullets pierce;
The unsuspecting,
The innocent hearts,
Blood upon the temple walls.
To what end,
Such hatred stems;
The children lie
In heaps, unthinking
Trapped souls
Rent of life by the soulless.
To what end,
Does hell accept so many
But heaven accept so few;
You are no divine judge
Nor underworld magister
Yet you don cloak and scythe--
Wings and crooked halo.
To what end,
Does your hatred breed
Like maggots in your victims’ eyes.
May the faces of the grieving,
The dead swim in your mind
Drown you in bitter guilt
For you deserve no respite.
About the Creator
CD Turner
I write stories and articles. Sometimes they're good.
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