As a child I dodged stray bullets,
some perhaps meant to glance
the fabric of my imagination.
I would like to take slow walks
inside places of pure discontent
only to find the walls did contain,
greatest fears in silent retrospect.
Perhaps this time I will know
just when the sky traumatic
holds the key to my own flight,
this fantasy of dreams I glide
upon through the night, unfurled
inside a societal scream.
I do wonder sometimes alone,
while in a wander of discontent,
will I ever feel the true strength,
a storm of controversy swells nearby,
always to suggest it is not my hand,
but that of a messenger so gallant.