The moon is turning red.
And the sky is filled with smoke.
And huddled deep within my bed,
This war poem I wrote.
I hear gunshot outside my bedroom now.
I hope it will pass soon.
This war was started Lord knows how.
Beneath this blood red moon.
YOU ARE READING
A book of poetry
PoetryThis is a bunch of poetry I either wrote or found. The ones with an asterisk (*) in the title are the ones I wrote. Any others I found. Please no stealing the ones I wrote and please don't criticize them too harshly. I did my best on them.
