Massacre
I was there and I recall
how it felt to be a member,
of that group out in the hall
at the school in late September.
Who had gravitated thus
by an instinct for survival
having suffered on the bus
scorn preceding their arrival.
Those who know that misery
hesitate before condemning
but in secret empathy
nod in silent understanding
It should come as no surprise
that a soul pushed to its limit
in black fury should arise
to destroy the ones that hurt it.
Proud and beautiful were they.
Cruel and cutting, calculated
clever words that they would say
fragile hearts eviscerated.
See the panic in their eyes!
High above the weapon’s stutter,
agonizing choirs rise,
voicing screams he could not utter.
The killers are dead!
But not all.
Louis William Rose
May 2001
In memory of
the
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