Red

The blue man shoots. The black man dies.

A crowd will gather, rage again.

We hear the keening, louder cries.

The blue man shoots the black man. Dies.

Bring back trust, hope, let us be wise,

for all are red beneath the skin.

The blue man shoots. The black man dies.

A crowd will gather, rage again.

I am wading yet again into the world of poetry, this time attempting a form called triolet.

 

 

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17 thoughts on “Red

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