bleeding the unready, the unaware, is easy
for you, the sniper, the assassin jogging away from the
ticking pressure cooker counting down to the screams
in a stress free life with your hat on backwards.
after the fact sorrow, sympathy, compassion is expected
for you, from some, fools who run from the razor reality of
burning shrapnel death and innocent amputated limbs
in a world tinted rose with shadow blinders on all sides.
once there would have been no ambulance, no trial anticipated
for you, the murderer, would be hunted down and hung from the
nearest sturdy tree to the applause of those left behind
in a country where excuses were whispers torn away in the wind.
driving over your brother, the police, the city of Boston
for you, the so-called victim, the lost one, hiding in a boat bottom and
offering unheard promises to kill or wound again and again
in America where they took you to a hospital to save your worthless life.
dying for the cause, this broken faith, is worth it
for you, for some, who translate difference as hate and sin
wishing for warmth from a cold cell or a colder hell
in a prison where all your promises will be broken.
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