Exit Rhythm

By Christopher Kryzan

Death stalks
   in many forms
   sometimes
      cloaked in black, sickle in hand
   sometimes
      driving a pickup truck.

Quick pickup
   in a bar
   sometimes
      flirtatious smile, promise of more
   sometimes
      a ruse, sheep's clothing.

Hatred smolders
   in their minds
   sometimes
      a mirror'd glance, frightening reflection
   sometimes
      a gun blow, hammer to the head.

Warning sign
   on a fence
   sometimes
      a scarecrow, nothing more
   sometimes
      more.

Oh, child, you could have been mine
   Pray that never be so, oh lord, that it never be so.
I dream that it's nothing more, a dream again
   But, oh lord, that ain't to be so, it ain't never to be so.

Stop.
                  The hate.
                  The lies.
                  Everything.

Oh, child, you were taken too soon. Why are they still here?

My heart.
                  Hurts.
                  Cries out and screams.
                  Has been torn from the very fabric of my being.

Oh, child, you were ours. We're all still here, you're not.

Reason eludes
   in my mind
   sometimes
      God's voice, nothing more
   sometimes
      hope.