Cry of the Existentialist
Well whaddya know. Would you look at this. (poet killed instantly of a gunshot wound)
This, this overwhelmer, high complainer pacifist.
Ashamed by far are we humanity,
but this so far has been the worse of loss of amenity.
Can you not see the graceful manner of the sword,
Eternal light upon God's own words
that one day you'll be promised home
and left unbound and free to roam?
Wake up and smell the powder,
I bet you thought guns could not get any louder,
I'll tell you what is left on this earth,
it's that hateful joy, your unnerving mirth.
You kill me! You're like a child whining.
Be you the next victim in if ever the next shining.
You talk as if you're a know it all,
but guess what you're already dead in this free-for-all.
Your genes deserve not a place in the pool!
With haste, become hate, you cowardly fool!
You think it's hot now, just wait 'til next June!
Pick up your gun and -
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