Echo

The mountain echoed-
The gunshots fired the night before,
Through the valley bellow.
Air, that once brushed pass –
And whistled through the valley,
Now is heavy with gunpowder;
Slowly suffocating all that once lived.
The girl who went missing –
The week before, has finally returned home,
And is resting in her yard, wrapped;
In a snow-white cloth,
With a bullet in her head
And the claw marks of lust, that hides
Underneath the decorated uniforms.
The mountain saw –
The cloud passing through the valley,
With their heads bowed down,
For their inability to wash off-
The ever fresh puddle of blood –
That adorns the streets.
So the mountain echoed –
The gunshots fired night before,
Louder, louder, louder.
But never made it beyond the –
Deaf ears and blind eyes of –
A population, glued to its television set.

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