The Quiet One

photo credit: Puzzler4879 via photopin cc

I don’t really know what to say prior to posting the following poem.  This subject is something that I, along with the rest of the country have found no answers to either explain nor to cure.  I use the word ‘cure’ because this is definitely some kind of illness that has taken over the youth of our country.  It happened again today… near Seattle.  What do we do to fix it?  What do we do to take away the fear and anxiety involved with the simplistic action of sending our children off to school every morning?  It’s got to stop.  It won’t fix itself.  We have to be the ones to find a solution.  Is it the hundreds of violent video games that allow the children to sit in their rooms half the night killing people?  Yes!  Is it the violence on television and in the movies?  Yes!  Is it that parents don’t spend enough time interacting with their children?  Yes!  Is it the breakdown of the family unit?  Yes!  Is it at least a thousand other factors that are adding to this horrible, irresponsible, lack of love and respect for every other human being?  Yes!…..

We’ve got to find a way to stop their aloneness, their sadness, the hurting inside of our children.

How long will the human race allow this plague to continue to kill our children?  How long?

The Quiet One
 
A child of reflection
He did what he pleased
Although he often
Seemed very displeased
 
Quietly he pondered
On killing and hate
To peers and to parents
He couldn’t relate
 
He knew that his knowledge
Was far above norm
Knowing his madness
Would soon stir the storm
 
He purchased the weapon
With funds that he stole
Removing the essence
From Mom’s heart and soul
 
He loaded the clip
His backpack was ready
His mind was intense
His hands not so steady
 
He arrived at the school
In camouflaged pain
About to ensure
That the boy was insane
 
The killing began
At eight twenty seven
In forty five seconds
He’d wounded eleven
 
A teacher jumped in
A girl of small build
To stop him from adding
To the one’s he had killed
 
He shook her away
Placed the gun at her head
His blank vacant stare
Assured she’d be dead
 
A nine year old child
Small but with flare
Hit him in the head
With a small wooden chair
 
He then kicked the gun
Across the slick floor
The little one and teacher
Ran for the door
 
The shooter revived
And ran for his gun
He hadn’t quite finished
What he had begun
 
The police had arrived
And crept down the hall
The students had scattered
But some had to crawl
 
The hunter stepped through
The classroom door
Stooped down to touch
The blood on the floor
 
He looked at his fingers
The tips soaked in blood
He rubbed on his pants
To mix with the mud
 
The marksman bore down
The crosshairs aligned
A tear blurred his vision
A child in the line
 
The hunter stood proud
Facing the crowd
Placing the barrel
Firm on his brow
 
A teacher spoke softly
To put the gun down
But Tommy heard nothing
And fired his last round
 
Silence then echoed
Through hallways and minds
Bodies fell lifeless
With blood on the blinds
 
Most of them wept
For the horrible cost
Heartbroken children
With Innocence lost
 
They all stood in awe
In their small sleepy town
The lives that were lost
Just wore them all down
 
They made a new law
Just lock up the guns
But it won’t stop the madness
From daughters and sons
 
I’m not sure there’s an answer
For the home of the brave
It seems we keep digging
Our very own grave
 
© 2014
 
Have a safe weekend… and hug your children…

I mean, really hug your children….. for a long time!
 
Michael33