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They’ve Shot John F. Kennedy

The River Stops Here

The river stops here, just down the street

I’m live and have arrived- to see death repeat.

In this frozen mausoleum where time stands still,

Taking photographs like a visitor touring hell.

Forty-three years hence and I still cannot believe.

A cold dark wind rose from the depths of evil.

It stirred from the corner of the railroad overpass

And continued a deadly swath atop the hilly grass.

This road is stained with our country’s blood and grief.

Fifty-five thousand followed the fallen Commander in Chief.

They marched into the plaza and disappeared below the overpass.

As I walked from Houston and Main to a sniper’s facade inside the glass.

For those guilty of his murder, justice in God’s court soon .

The eternal crack of the rifles echo from 30 minutes after noon

I possess a persistent pain that cries forever inside of me.

The river stops here.

It will flow no more and will never be.

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