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 ParisWere 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!
