Michael Romero Poet Ballad

Nightmare.

As the gun shots rang out I would lay still on the floor,
   trying to hear were there were coming from,
     down the street or at my front door,
         then silence listening as my fears numbed.

Standing in the night-filled street surrounded by crying loved ones,
  why oh why did he have to die,
     this was my life surrounded by gangs and guns,
        seeing myself dead on the pavement while others cry.

Off to the cemetery were they lay me to rest,
  looking from a distance I see the look on there faces,
    no longer held in moms arms close to her breast,
       but in a casket never filling her loving embraces.

Now looking up from six feet under seeing the ski one last time,
  hearing in the distance her last cry,
     mom this was never my life the walk I took was a fine line,
        to die a gang member I cry why mom why,

I awake next to my wife some years later,
   I`d never die in the streets like a dog, I swore it would n`t be me,
      to run in a gang was not my plans they were much greater,
         so why did I awake having this nightmare... I found a way out can`t you see

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