This is something I thought up VERY late at night. Please review it, give it a chance.

Disclaimer: My creative disclaimers have run out. I don't own Les Mis.

The streets of Paris

Were red tonight.

Red with the blood

Of those who died.

The blood of a child,

The blood of an old man.

The blood of friends,

The blood of enemies.

The people and the tyrants

Have always been enemies.

Always were

And always will be,

Yet the people were always

Kept at bay.

But sometimes they fight,

And heroes emerge,

Those who'll build the barricade

Against tyranny,

And let it stand.

And yet it fails.

The child wanted life.

The old man wanted death.

The young men wanted something different.

The walls crumble,

Leaving nothing but

Red,

Red on black.

The blood of the fallen

Stains the black streets red.

And a blood-red moon hangs against

A black sky.

*****

Okay, I know what you're thinking. Crap! Well, I agree with you. Trust me, I'd be the first to flame this. But please go easy, I'm in a REALLY angsty mood. Take that into account for the depressingness of this poem. See ya, off to write something more cheerful!