Kacie B. Sharpe

Poetry, short prose, & general musings.

Stained Glass

America’s glass is stained 

Inky red flowing down 

The idol they hold

A king and his crown

——-

America’s glass is stained 

Shootings are routine 

The American gun 

ArmaLite 15. 

——-

Stained glass shattered 

Bullets flying through 

To take sweet souls 

What do we do?