Seconds of War

Reaching in the sky,

I snatch aimless streams of hope seeking heaven's solace. 

Dead nations are written across missiles 

Evasive targets fly in patterns migrating to the west. 

Moon crescents illuminate Black skins and

Revolutionanize closed minds 

Brittle tongues lick off blind faith 

While I rest atop cadavers sailing with War's tide

Souls climb, but fall victim

- This is a short little piece that
I wrote after a poetry vibe session with b.