Strolling

I met a gentleman strolling,
A smart young chap you see.
We walked and talked for quite
some time, not so seemingly.
We touched on poems and politics,
socialism and democracy.
Fast friends we were becoming,
Until the arguing.

The subject was our freedom,
In it he didn’t believe.
He said we were fools to think that way,
And in that he challenged me.
“I’m free! I’m free!” I yelled,
you can’t take that from me.
He raised his gun and laughed,
Then took my life from me.

October, 1997