Is It Poetry
From the barrel of the Gun life taking tears.
I know you see or feel the Sun it's warmth go out.
The shock across your Face,
your eyes grow distant then go Blank.
Back to sleep, that far off distant place, Before.
Before it was decided, You came here.
You came here and Changed your past again.
And like before, the tears lie as a blanket wet upon.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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