The Sound of a Round

He is my brother
He is danger due to his color
He is a man
He is other for loving another
I am them
Their fear is goosebumps on my skin
They are scared
Frightened of the world in which they are in
They are people
Their tears become mine as I match their cries
I look through them
Raising my gaze to meet hateful eyes
They are our saviors
Bleeding hope from their mouths
They are white horses
Their heads forever held to the clouds
We are the living dead
We lie in our own eggshells on the ground
We are their victims
Cursed to fall down by the next sound of a round

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