Somber room.
Cheery music playing loudly,
Drowning out the screams of lost lives.
Pictures hanging depicting scenes of innocence.

Ironic.

Because all innocence is dead in this room.
Mostly women but a man or two
Trickle in with bowed heads.
The door clicks shut and the faces in the room soften.

Tension leaves shoulders.
Some here for support,
Others here to be supported.

Chilly air hits one body,
Two heartbeats.

Jokes made to ease the atmosphere.

Awkwardness.

Could I cut the tension with a knife?
I'm sure I could if I tried.
Care packages given,
Evidence to be burned.

Look in the eyes of the ones who sit,
Stares at the floor,
Thinks of nothing.

The slight chant of the protesters.
Holding rosaries,
Holding signs.
All they want to do is save a life
But sometimes a life can't be saved.

New opinions, new outlooks.
Do I agree?
No.
But here I sit silently.
Does that make me evil?
Does that mean I am as unworthy as they?

I wish to never sit in this room again.
I wish to hold life, not **** it.

I pray for all in this room.