05/20/96 - 08/09/14
we are under the comfort
that blooming flowers are bright
that they shine like stars in a glistening night--
that they are good and small, like a beacon of light--
but we can't tell what's a flower
and what's a weed;
we can't tell what's dust
and what's a seed--
we don't know if who we think help us are just beasts
wearing sheep's clothing to the feast.
around us are stars falling, boys calling
for help in a lack-luster world
that wants color so badly
it's scared to look away from the small innocent flower
and towards the boy who stands like a tower.
and we think he's threatening--
we think he's scary--
and so what we do, we provide what we think's a remedy--
but who we killed was not the enemy.