Every day we feel frustration.
Short, battered, and bloody, not a man,
Muscles rippled as water
When struck.
Charging though all.
Not caring who or what is in his path.
Not excluding the heart, from the blindness of his rage.
Long and unkempt is his hair.
Constantly his eyes from seeing,
Where is he going?
His hair is all that will defy him
It is long and stringy black and greasy.
His skin red and burnt.
With the blood of so many innocent eyes he has clouded.
Clouded with his hatred and fury.
Long and sharp are his gnashing teeth.
His blood is with hatred as are his eyes.
I now feel sorry for him.
