The Black Dirt

The echo of the moon entered poor sight
I could only see the shine of the blood
as it washes over my hands
I stumble over the river
let the water run over my hands
The clean river dries with pure hatred
i look at the lifeless corpse
wishing i had done more
a little child fails to make it home
but nobody cares about this child
for his skin are a few shades lighter than dirt
but that is all he is to them
just plain dirt