the 19th SCHOOL shooting in the USA in 48 days

the gun lobby is lying low
the president
     surprise
avoids a straight comment

17 school children dead
because in the land of the free
any psychopath can buy
a semiautomatic without problems
and vent his frustrations and fears
in a shooting spree

home schooling is on the rise
for better or worse

what do you call a president
who is unwilling
    or unable
    to protect
the health and security
of his people?

LOSER!!!

"Breathe,"
They call to me.

"Stay calm."
They whisper softly.

I can hear their tears
As they say,
"Remember to pray."*

And we should be angry.
We shouldn't be offering our sympathy
To the one that stole,
To the one that offered up his soul
For the taste of iron and gunpowder
For the taste of blood,
For the sake of leaving innocents
Six feet under tear-stained mud.

It isn't our weapons.
No, with the right morals and the right lessons,
It wouldn't be a problem.

It wasn't mental illness.
Trust me, please,
I know.
This is more than my business.

I know about trauma, I know about pain.
I know how it feels to have a curse become your name.

But we all have a choice,
We all make that decision,
For whether it will be our light or our dark that we choose to imprison.

He chose to use his pain,
To blend with his hatred.
He became his own darkness,
And that can never be forgiven.

Took this down, but I'm putting it back up after reading a letter by another teacher, deeply questioning his own courage and what has gone wrong In America.
___

Anger, sorrow....
They sometimes converge
in children
The wind explodes them in our hands
and
I hate the world that kills 17 kids
with American Senseless  

Peace--
Impossible possession
The angle of declination
Breath of a moment
  
A violet thread pulled from the hem of day.

It was an AR15 that the kid used.
A gun that, in this free world, men can indulge and abuse.
A boy who saw him load his gun,
the gunman saw and simply said run,
A word that made the child flee for his life,
just before waves of bullets came upon the school,
The kid looked on and asked himself
why is life so cruel.

How many more people have to die,
before its ****** metal, not tears, that your children cry.
This free world, rife with argument by silly politicians
Men that make decisions, without experience of the repercussions.
This gunman was not a delinquent, he was a child.
Born of your failed systems, born of your sick traditions.
A boy who without second thought, took up his assault rifle
and headed into war with the children that learned ambition with him,
emotion and sudden movement that made them all feel just that little bit stifled.

This free world is one with a core of rights,
A doubled edged dagger,
a topic of discussion that makes the average fat man want to fight.
‘Over my cold dead body’ he said.
LET ME HAVE MY GUN
Because whilst others use it for fun,
the protection I have outweighs the fact
that when a 19 year old comes to school,
all the other kids have to run.

It’s ridiculous, heck its thoroughly imbecilic,
How children have to be careful of the education system,
not because of a
nationwide test
but a,
nationwide threat
of grown men,
looking to prove their ego,
men that can’t go against the party line
that fail to realise that life is more important
than the next donation
than the dollar sign.

You want protection? That’s completely fine.
Just don’t use the bodies of your children
as meat shields and pretend everything’s fine.
Don’t say you’ll do something as if something will change
because nothing will change unless it does.
This free world is not filled with love but truly its filled with hate,
A bloodlust so dense, even children’s blood cannot sate it’s thirst.
Until it's more than just a child hurt, but a country with a bullet wound
Caused by people, who love guns so much but blame it on the loons.
Your pain, I cannot prove.

How can you run when you know?
⁃Neil Young

America,
Our words won’t shake the world enough to grow flowers out of gunpowder, or bright red, blood-curdling screams.

But we can try

These kids were 14 when they closed their eyes for the last time
They were 14 when the stepped out their front doors for the last time,
Their fresh eyes were swallowed out the back of their necks

I look at them the way I look at a blank canvas
Opportunity cascading like waterfalls
I look at them as a museum that was waiting for art
Waiting for love
And America
I am waiting for love

I was 14 and I was stuck in my own head
Trying to find something to belong to but searching in all the wrong places.
I was 14 and I too thought more about ending my own life than I would like to admit
I was 14 and I never watched the news because it never pertained to me

You see,
I was selfish for thinking the news never pertained to me
I was selfish for staying so disengaged, desensitized
America, my home, my nightmare
Wake up
Blame the video games, blame mental illness
But America, look
You’re killing your children

Wake up,
Because I am sick of praying
I am so tired of feeling helpless
Maybe there’s something we can do
Let's make our voices heard
Let's turn our lost blood to ink
And scream to ******* artist himself,

I’m sorry, Mr. President
But, did you get more than you bargained for?
We’ve been patient Mr. President
And we’re ready for your response.
Wake up, Mr. President
How many lives must be lost?
You’re a ******* artist, Mr. President,
But you can’t worm your way out this time
Don’t choke now Mr. President
This problem is kinda huge.
This country is a divided wrist, Mr. President
And your stubborn orange skin makes it seem as if we’re going to lose.

A boy goes to school

And tears his schoolmates apart

With metal piercing bullets

This is normal now.


Igor Goldkind

Tears scar
my fevered
red face
as I rage
against
these
unites states.

Pillars of pain
pushed to the point
of bullets and
blood stained
t-shirts.

To young,
to run
far enough
away
that day,

Now politicians
send thoughts and
prayers
but that is
much too little
to even be late.

The media
garners
silent stares
of inaction
while anonymous
internet commenters
call grieving parents
crisis actors.

facebook posts
of dividing positions
put friends in
combative opposition.

I would like
to be fair and neutral,
but the roots
run red and deep
as this dark sea of grief
rises from its sedated state.

So,
I keep on asking
how many more children
have to die
before people do
something right.