A Rose That Never Wilts

I’ve seen too many people die.                                                                                            Homicides, mothers cry, my own people swatted like flies.                                      Brothers hurting brothers, sisters doing the same;                                                            we try to point at society, yet are we the ones to blame?                                                Death before dishonor, that’s a quote I’ll never understand.                                              How could you kill a mirror image of yourself, so swiftly, like a movie on demand.            No one is perfect, yet we are the face of humanity.                                                           But before you point your gun in my face, pull the trigger, and exit another life off the human race, let me  ask one question.                                                                                   Is it a man you see?                                                                                                                  Or is it just a glimpse of your family; your life flashing before your eyes;                            as a grandmother’s tears roll down her chin wondering, “Why God? Why? Take me instead” as repayment for another man’s revenge.                                                          Death vomits morose vigorously as a mad dog bites a face.                                                  As time moves on and people pass, the memories are not erased.                                   But the good times, the good times, the good times come again.                                     As a glimpse of sun from a world begun, to an everlasting twilight that never ends. Remembering the blessings of those now gone, brings back the smile that still belongs in the face of till death do us part.                                                                                     And as a rose that never wilts in the storms of life’s gain, the fruitfulness of life’s memories, even after death shall nevertheless remain. 

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 



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