the shadows hide us from our deepest fears:
two people walking hand in hand at night—
they stop and kiss each other by the light,
but one is scared of what he thinks he hears.
it sounds like screams; it sounds like taunting jeers;
but this will not be just a normal fight.
it matters not if they are wrong or right;
this fight will bring out more than simple tears.

the preachers in their darkened office write;
they call for morals, call for families' rights.
they do not care to know what they create.
the man who lived will hold the mem'ry tight;
the man who died did always love the nights
until he was attacked by boys with hate.

poems i have written: