the life of pigeons

I miss that time
when people looked at pigeons,
dancing with the wind.
Now there's too much crime.
In my mind...
I wonder about, "the life of pigeons"

Our youth a blind like moles...
I hear their cry, their fear to die!
they can never be free
like pigeons in the sky.
I hear. Gunshots and bullet holes
and gangs go on a killing spree,
unexpected "shots with a vengeance"
leaving behind, "a thousand victims."
They won't know what the future holds
their stories, never to be told.
We don't hear it on the news,
or read them in the paper.
We remember, we remember!
They all come from a paradise,
where there's no one to be blamed,
and no one seeking fame,
trying to make a name;
their vision a little dim...
for they never knew how to dream,
the life of pigeons are freedom...
living life on the very fast lane.
But we're trying to play a game
where the devil will know your name.
Never living to coexist,
like pigeons up in the sky...
our morals irrelevant,
we're slaves to a government,
when slowly they suffocated,
their lives were all terminated.

If only we taught the young,
to dream while the road is strong.
Then reality will shape our visions,
no longer will our children,
be stuck in a world of violence.
In my mind, I
imagine "the life of pigeons."
When our young civilization,
is free like a pigeon, flying.

This poem is about: 
My community

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