Zera's Room: Notebook: Poetry


The molester of truth
The rape of a race
everyone dies with a smile on
their face.
The masses of bodies
lying aside
the aftermath of genocide.
The echo of laughter
threw the halls
a bullet ricocheting off the walls.
It pierces my heart
straight and true
and I let out a cry too.
As I fall to the ground
I see the pain
a phony grasp on life I claim.
If I can hold on a little longer
It will make my soul grow stronger.

Copyright 1997, P. F. Anderson & Zera Anderson.
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Last modified November 29, 1997.
URL of current page: http://pubweb.acns.nwu.edu/~pfa/dreamhouse/zrm/ntbk/zpholo.html