Requiem eternal, requiescat in pace.

Find joy in sorrow, life in death.

Why, oh why, how could they

Better to ask how could we.

 

April is the cruelest month[1]

School is the hardest time

Longing, wishing, lashing back

At Life, who attacked once too often.

 

Innocence lost, stuff of nightmares

Stalks the halls.

 

How could it, why could they

Look within for the answer.

Spirit beyond bending breaks,

Pieces on the floor, shatter

Others like they shatter.

 

Anger without bounds bred

Of unending sorrow finds its way

Between the banks of society

Beyond the line of morality

Finds its weapon and strikes fast as fire.

 

Running, screaming, bullets soaring

Death stalks the halls.

 

Fingers point, accusations fly

Who is to blame? “Not I, not I.”

Libera me Domine de morte.

Libera me Domine.

Libera me.

                                   

                                    April 21, 1999

 



[1] T.S. Eliot the Wasteland