'Bullets, like the trees cant hear thy cry'

Dead...
bullets fly free in a spree ,
go flee,  the soul
misled...
in all directions...

emotions without control

life, reality's lie...
rather die, because dead's like home
barren no pulse, no  signs of joy...
long gone,  flown...

the cold steel
against scarred flesh
urges, promises  
relief soon...

calmly,
graciously, the trigger is pulled...
now that spray just painted
a broken soul free

and time continues let it be

as we listen
to freedom's whisper
through the crowded forestry of

trees...