Devin Chehin | + Follow Poet |
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Slumber

The sun peeks over the distant land, the glowing red, the violence creeps.
As stir the eyelids of a certain man. One drifting through his final sleep.
What thinks he of such innocent slumber, the ironic cackles of the coming thunder.
The sun's now risen, the day's alive, from which no soul can run or hide.
The misty breeze which smells so sweet.
The song of birds atop the trees.
Everything which seemed so pure, could not foresee the depth of fury.
Betrayed his own, resentful men, he plots to find his sweet revenge.
On a corner, there stood a bus, the children plenty, whom ran a muck.
Laughter, joy, the sweet sensation, a new come breed, a thought's creation.
Pass on by, there's nothing here.
These children have nothing to fear.
They are not the cause of desperation, that caused me to destroy a nation.
I am not an end, a beginning, new.
You've judged me, so i will target you.
The looming silence, with which i pray.
My conscience begs for another day.
To sleep on compassion, which I know not.
My hate brings joy to those who fought, for every moral with which we taught.
To watch the teachers corrupt youth's mind.
Into the condemned, bled witch of Salem's Lot.
How should I have made my point,
by violence, love, or phrases coined.
By speakers loved for their surpassing, love for everything worth having
The anger dies as children near
Their destination, my thoughts are clear.
What would it do, to hurt so many
The love like hate, is abundant, plenty.
For I am not the one to hate.
But still my point has to be made.
I guess I'll wait another day.
My point be made another way.
Pro choice i live, with ongoing strife.
I pray my choice may save the lives, of those who actually make a change,
to better the lives of those estranged.
To make a difference, one way, another.
My choice is made, eternal slumber.

Copyright © Devin Chehin | Year Posted 2013

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