Only the good die young

I'm bringing out my older poems, things I wrote after I was 9, 10, thereabouts. This one I wrote about one and a half years ago, and I found it buried in a box of scrap paper...
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It is a midnight sky, begging for death.
Paint the clouds red to reflect the bloodshed.
The Lord fell, while the angels, they wept.
The flowerbed burns for the soul of the dead.
They belong to the ground now,
back where they came.
The Earth, she made them
equal, the same.
Crimson betrayl
taints the pure white rose.
The innocent burn
for their own path they chose.

I feel so empty now,
I am what I became.
Though I was born equal
I am not the same.
You broke and provoked me.
My hopes becoming agony.
Each day that dawns I despise
for it's calamity.
Destrying my but drawing me.
Take me from all I believed.
A new day comes to take my soul.
For when the light shines, my demise is told.