They buried Weaver Tuck today;
A child of six barely sprung
from the womb;
Caught in a cross-fire,
snuffed like a candle,
Victim of senselessness
barren of shame.
Where was his crime to be
paid for so heavily?
What did he do to deserve
such a fate?
He only wanted to play on the
sidewalk;
Sidewalks demented by
torrents of hate
And the violent steaming of
senseless demands
That sink the level of
genuine worth
To a point so low that life loses
value,
As urges and cravings beguile
common sense.
Shame becomes shapeless
without recompense
And the Preacher is helpless
For no one will hear,
No one stands close enough to
shed a tear,
And justice is silent or slow
to dispense.
We live in a jungle where no
one survives,
And hate is allowed to go on
stealing lives.
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