The blood rolls down the jagged glass
and splatters on the ground
The young child’s eyes are blank
and lost in the silence
silently roaring in the room.
The screams and cries and confusion
distilled in that last gasp for breath
a question from a mind
that once was a garden of possibility
but now a small grave
Each gunshot shouts the question
and each battered body responds
Is hate so strong and good so weak?
Do we ignore the signs?
We are so young. So young.
innocent baby eyes closing forever
horrified at the spreading stain
“Oh no…I got my shirt dirty”
What will mother say?