Is just a drip
from whence
it comes
it matters
not
to some.
We no longer
can tell with eyes
when we pass
them by
do they
bleed.
Multiply all sides
walks you drive
the streets do cry
more now than
just a dropp
you spy.
Gallons by the barrel
cannot replenish
the gushing of
the lost tell me
why?
These side walks
you know
the streets do
have names
not just our
country
that plays
this blood game.
The well that
whispers
will one day
run dry.
Uloia Norris Moore
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-drop-of-blood-2/
