Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Untitled (early writing)

The wind gently moves the swings
In a sandbox, a lone child is silently destroying sandcastles
On a park bench,
A young mother quietly weeps…


Angry voices float down from an open window
Off in the distance, a siren wails its sad song
In the street,
A man lays slain…
Pools of blood forever reflect the streetlights

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