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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 21, 2016

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Submitted: June 20, 2016



A pop,

A crack

The body's pile up on the rack

We sit here and simply watch as they drop

The innaction

becomes irration 

in such a nonsensical fashion

We sit. We pray. We do nothing at all.

And by the end of the day another face is added to the hall.

And I lash out, I demand action, I demand justice, represenation for which I call.

And as I scream helplessly, never have I ever felt so small.

Their hands we arm- the cold blood is on our hands.

I will not have this- we shan't

We built a culture of guns and knock down regulations

And our deposition only serves for their ammunition

Imbecility is a drug- and its fatal

As you form a cult for the guns that you cradle

I am a heathen- take me now

I am a heathen and I am proud

I am a heathen, this is me.

I am godless and I am free.

My friends are heathens and proud to be.

And you are a heathen, don't you see?

I am an apostate- so come and kill me.

Their blood is my blood

Their tears are my tears

We all draw back in fear

but I am not afraid

Fear kills your mind

helpless, trembling, tantalizing your spine.

The battle of ideals will not be fought with bullets

A paragon with a gun is guise for an extremist with a gun

And an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind

I simply cannot help but wonder why

Why we can't leave this matter behind

four and a half scores a percentage of us support us doing something

And yet representatives sit in silence and exhale nothing

Perhaps this is by its very definition a revolution

Perhaps our single retribution

I understand Christians and Muslims alike would hang me from the square

So I bring my ultimatum- come and dare.

The extremists keep reaping

And we only keep weaping

Yes, I am a heathen.

I express these values and morality through verse.

Hey dipshit, I'm a heathen. If you're looking for blood you can spill mine first.



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