On Bullying
J
James McLain
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The aura of air,
around them, it is.
Some of their brains,
may even be.
Remorseless,
what of those parents.
What kind of seed,
does that?
Are they words,
of another era long past.
Sometimes I wish I had.
Hiding in the open,
is in vain.
The pencil in my side,
mum pulled out.
Their were four.
And some fourty eight,
years later.
The lead is still usable.
Bu şiiri puanla
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