He died, With his eyes open, in front of a barrel, hot and smoking. I saw him the other day, playing basketball, He stood there, so proud, tall, graceful and regal, with the elegance and speed, of a soaring eagle, I could see him fly, when he flashed a smile at me, his teeth gleaming, as he stood there beaming. then continued about his play, I guess he didnt expect, to be dead today. Everyone loved him, except the man who couldnt love himself, He died. With his eyes open. In front of a barrel. hot and smoking. In a pool of red, I guess he didnt expect, that he'd soon be dead, lying in an alley, with a bullet in his head.
Reason for writing:
Life is short. Beautiful. Bittersweet. Tommorrow, is not guaranteed.
Birth sign: Scorpio
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Buckey Ashland.