early evening sitting trying to figure out if the square root to a number looked like itself ...she pondered........... she didn't hear the wind bend the branches to ghetto trees whose square roots choked those that crept in the shadows despising the sun she didn't hear that ******'s crooked finger pull that trigger all she heard was herself singing about the joys of learning in the backroom of her mind (she sure could sing) she didn't hear the bullet screaming from the chamber or the wall gasping for it's last breath as it was ripped by misguided lead all she heard was herself singing as the bullet passed through her chest (mama can you save her?) sometimes I hate life... vigils being held for her 5:00 / be there gotta be there for her to watch her spirit be cleansed by the tears shed for her she rises she rises too soon (she was only 12) she rises too soon but washed of she rises too soon but washed of all the bullshyt sediment that weighed down the trigger finger that made her sing like the bird impaled on the thorn who sang it's finest song in death "yes, tyesha the square root of 49 is 7..." rise tyesha RISE (c)2002 blakverb Tyesha Edwards age 12, struck by a stray bullet while sitting at her table doing homework. Another life lost too soon, another stain on our collective fabric. Every child you come across hug and tell them how important they are. Every man and woman you come across greet with a warm hello and a smile. Love is too scarce. Souls grow cold and minds crippled resulting in madness.