This is a poem I wrote today about.... tell me what you think it means; I know what it means... but do you?

The Flipping of a Coin

It starts with anger,
The accomplice of danger.
Gunshots in the air,
Hitting anyone in the fair.
The bullets are followers,
They are not the leaders
Next is the flipping of a coin,
It is the unfair balance keeper.
Everything ends at the
Flipping of a coin

Whether heads or tails,
It does not matter
The ghosts of the innocent wails
In their vengeful sadness.
Beauty and nature take the toll,
As the wheels of tanks roll.
It all began with the flipping of a coin.
Heads or tails,
It does not care.
The toll is not its fare.
Everything ends at the
Flipping of a coin

In the time of death,
There is only one left.
It does not live long,
It is the coin.
As the coin remembers,
It thinks us as vile.
At last a new hand
Picks it up.
The hand of a New Age.
The coin knows this
Age will fall;
For it remembers
It remembers the
Others.
The end began with
The flipping of a coin.

The coin knew it was right;
For screams awoke the silent night.
It does not have sight but it knows.
Another hand picks it up,
It feels the rush and sighs
Of the air.
It lands on the ground,
never to be found.
Blood pools around the coin,
Obscuring every feeling.
Still it knows.
The end began with
The flipping of a coin.

Now though,
The coin knows more.
Unlike all Ages before,
This age is the last.
No more hands will flip the coin.
Everything ends in due
Time.
The end for the Last Age,
Began with the
Flipping of a coin.