Bless his heart.
Who's next?
Please, God, give all of us time.
Why are you so cruel?
Where is the reason?
He was a 17-year-old boy.
The salt was meant to melt the ice
and now it soaks a boy's blood.
A tragedy.

Rest in peace young boy.
'We have to do better'

in the wake of this moment
we hold our dry faces with hands

in the wake of this moment
we hold to be better brands

in the wake of our seclusion
we grasp to what we know is true

in the wake of our seclusion
we gasp for a holy few

in the wake of our improvement
we prove to be sink further to delusion

in the wake of our improvement
we prove to find some solution

in the wake of this written glass
we see a cloud beyond the horizon

in the wake of this written glass
we hear the final siren

May technology lift us to Elijah, to accelerate us faster into the ground -  irises bleached with pictures of the screen.

As I float through my chair's arm.
A hug goes through my spine.
My knees hit the floor but only to climb.
I sink through the floor, seeping through
the cracks in the wood.
Feet thunder to my locked door.
While my laptop waits for me.
You will never feel my warm hands again,
pressed against your keys.
You and I lay silent.

In the blink of an eye.
What's forgotten tomorrow-
will not warm this winter air.

And files and taillights.
Bring in an order,
but that's not why we're here.

To cause and to carpet-
this brown leather loophole.
That's filling despair.

A whip brings of an old-
oiled animal nature.
Spread enough to comb hair.

I remember this street...
It's odd to admit but I have never gripped a wheel here before.
No, in the past I was humbled to my feet.

The street is quiet, hushed by the glimmering snow, with as many sparks as a rural sky.
On the corner lays a New England style home, with lit windows - shining in the snow like a Christmas tree.

That house is where I learned of death, where a little boy once lived. His smile was vulnerable and honest - he was unafraid to show his imperfect teeth.

He was destined to bring joy to the earth. And in the short time he had, he proved to be a prodigy of kindness.
Now he lays in a casket - embalmed and as cold as the snow resting against his old window.

Why am I here when little boys with proud smiles are so far gone? I wish we could exchange chance under the street light my old friend. I wish I could  hear you again.

So, the secrets they say.
Are over the pit and under the clay.
Written, in some cryptic mist.
Never to hold and always to miss.
And if - the data it creeps.
Between the cracks we'll be here to keep.
The servers, away from thin ice.
So we can share our own demise.

Look at the way the lights shimmer,
phasing in and out of reality.

I see you my small friends-
keep your dance humble and bright.