Tamir Rice, Peace

Not a toy
But a gun
In the hands
Of the one
You can trust;
Yes, you must
With your all.

Then you fall:
All that trust
Up in flames
Of disgust,
As you lay
In the dust,
Someone’s son.

Not a gun
Just a toy
In the hands
Of a boy.
Now he’s dead
Cut by lead,
Burning deep.

Can you sleep
As they weep
For the loss
Of a life
That you slayed
From the palm
Of your hand?

And then killed
Him again
With a law-
Mocking pen.
Is this all
We have for
Tamir Rice?

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