WHY!? Trying to understand the Tragedy

Standard

The blood rolls down the jagged glass

and splatters on the ground

thoughtlessly

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

Why?

Why?

WHY?

Each gunshot shouts the question

and each battered body responds

Why?

Is hate so strong and good so weak?

Why?

Do we ignore the signs?

Why?

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?

 

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