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A Killing On Lincoln

It’s a d*mn dirty feeling
It’s a punch
It’s a hole in the wall
 
It’s a home without pictures
It’s a phone
With no one to call.
 
I was told by sinners
By saints
By bus driving men
 
That the guilt in your mind
Won’t let it go where you’ve been
 
This town is different
Lotta sighs
Lotta white flagged men
 
They blowing out candles
Hoping they don’t burn again
 
Tell me I’m different
And I got something to say
 
Tell me I’m busy
And I’ve got no time to play
 
No one’s gonna hold your hand tonight
No ones gonna tuck you in
You aint gonna feel like you did when you were young
No one’s gonna hold your hand tonight
 
I read your letters
I didn’t write
Because I didn’t much care
 
I saw a killin’ on Lincoln
I was late
So I only stared.
 
They dragged her away
Pulling her hair from the root.
We found clothes in the river
And buckets of blood in her boots.
 
I heard you crying
But I said please go away
Three beds in my home
But you got no place to stay
 
No one’s gonna hold your hand tonight
No ones gonna tuck you in
You aint gonna feel like you did when you were young
No one’s gonna hold your hand tonight
 
Someone name Jim
Maybe Joe
Said I was his son
 
He spoke of my youth
Of my eyes
With his hand on a gun
 
They said, “Boy that man’s crazy.
He’s gonna shoot you dead”
 
But with tears in my eyes
I said
“Tell me my story again.”
 
No one’s gonna hold your hand tonight
No ones gonna tuck you in
You aint gonna feel like you did when you were young
No one’s gonna hold your hand tonight
 
The old man was buried
His daughters boots on the grave
 
Pops always told me
You got no man to save.
 
But this one is different
There’s no tale for the young.
Just hair from a woman
And a sad man’s hand on a gun
 
No one’s gonna hold your hand tonight
No ones gonna tuck you in
You aint gonna feel like you did when you were young
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Poetry.com 3.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 0 reviews.
Ofuonyebi 'Dinobi More than 1 year ago
well done.... great work
Lia Aricò More than 1 year ago
The poet, by using anaphoras, gives to his poem the sound of a moving train. This sound is disturbing and communicates to us the regret for a childhood lost too soon and the uncertainty raising from a world where violence is, too often, the only word uttered.
Seema Ali More than 1 year ago
Next time write a shotter poem.
Mickey Rovet More than 1 year ago
This had a great underlying story but it came off too much like rap lyrics for my taste :/
Pedro Fernandes More than 1 year ago
let me see, a former citizen or maybe, or a shame on you or let's see, do you imagine how tall he was? we, actually can kill him in our thoughts but he knock us down (friends INC) so hard Daniel Day is probably Half Linc Go and check I believe 7 ft 2 and 250lb
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