Boston
The happiness of finishing runners
drowned out by the srill screams of terror,
as the huge boom roars.
Three silences forever 140 broken.
Forever scared from the inhuman act of terror.
We lift up the wounded and hurting in Boston
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.