The Good Die Young Poem by Robert Roberts

bullet shattered through
skin like broken glass
blood rains from the sky as a nation cry
all because another died
eyes barely opened to the world
feet still dry but now cold
as the good die young
before it all said and done
a mother lost a son
as his body returns to the sand
as it hard time when the good die young
no among of rain can watch
away the blood stained pavements
as am down on my knees
praying for my own salvation
seen so much brother die
and my god you along know why
the good the young
and the bad stay around