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.