The Mood and the Moment
Young marine, you lost your friend.
His blood was in your hair.
Faceless killers and
a language you fail to speak.
Step across the desert,
move out of the sunlight
(ducking through the doorway).
Roomful of enemies;
women and kids.
They could be haunted.
You're pulling the dream together
from the trigger of your weapon.
Roomful of bloody dreams.
It's the mood and the moment.
His blood was in your hair.
Faceless killers and
a language you fail to speak.
Step across the desert,
move out of the sunlight
(ducking through the doorway).
Roomful of enemies;
women and kids.
They could be haunted.
You're pulling the dream together
from the trigger of your weapon.
Roomful of bloody dreams.
It's the mood and the moment.
posted by Bananas at 4:07 PM
4 Comments:
Your pome made me think of all the things that have to do with all the killers that are not in jail & are out on the run!
This poem relates to lots of things i have read and how killers should be... maybe killed not here to kill innocent people.
The pome was rendezvous !
Nice poem
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