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© 2018 by Benjamin Shaw. Created with Wix.com

Charleston


The last breathes of nine drift through the halls

Past chapel doors stained by age

Their histories paint it's walls

Prayers still on the page


A young man raised on evil

Harboring prejudice and sin

Terrorized these innocent people

Only guilty of having dark skin


Milky eyed men try to comprehend

In a nation numbed by violence

The humorist puts down his pen

What's the point in trying


The wind blows through Charleston's trees

Carrying their voices across the land

Scattering crimson tinged leaves

Rustling an old, ruined flag


Now it fans the flames of horrid deeds

Churches burn under their weight

Ashes pile up on weeds

Choking out sunlight with hate


The President is singing hymnals

Hoping that He will listen

They were more than mere symbols

Right until we forget them


The last breathes of nine drift by and away