Member-only story
Billy
The streetlights hum a mournful tune,
Another soul beneath the moon,
A cart of shadows, grim and deep,
Where Billy lies in endless sleep.
No need to draw the bloody scene,
The shattering of what might have been,
Just know that darkness filled the air,
And Billy’s life became a prayer,
Unanswered, lost in concrete gray,
Another casualty of the day.
Senseless violence, a brutal tide,
Washing dreams away inside,
A thousand Billys walk the line,
With futures shadowed, rarely shine,
No guiding hand, no gentle voice,
Just echoes offering a hollow choice.
This isn’t judgment, flung with scorn,
But truth laid bare, a world forlorn,
Where hope is fragile, easily crushed,
And trust is whispered, silence hushed.
The end for Billy, stark and cold,
But stories similar, yet untold,
Still surge and writhe, a desperate plea,
For street-born glory, wild and free.
When will it end? This endless war,
The open wounds that bleed and pour,
The vacant stares, the hollow sound,
Of lost souls circling, nowhere bound?
When will the streets run clean again,
And Billy’s death not be in vain?
