As sudden as an ocean wave, the valve in his heart gave up.
Standing at the cemetery gates I finally understood.
He is gone. He is missed.
But he is not coming back.

In the blink of an eye, he was under the truck.
Standing at the cemetery gates I finally found peace.
Peace with the truck driver and peace with myself.
Most importantly peace with God.

As the bullet hit the gun dropped from his head to the floor.
Standing at the cemetery gates I was angry.
Angry as his parents, angry at the school.
Angry with myself. But mostly angry at him.

Her car veered off the road, down the ledge and into the water but it wasn't an accident.
Standing at the cemetery gates I was lost.
I couldn't understand why this happened.
I couldn't fathom why she did this to herself.

Thanksgiving morning, metal on metal, laughter dies.
Standing at the cemetery gates I was broken.
My soul so tired, holding those around me.
One life was gone and another hung in the balance.

His father saw him drop the gun as his body fell, wanted to run and save his son.
Standing at the cemetery gates I was numb.
Numb with shock and fear and cold
During that frigid and depressing December.

You can't beat the train. He knew but didn't listen.
Standing at the cemetery gates I was empty.
So many pieces of my heart were taken during the year
I wasn't sure there was anything left.

Standing at the cemetery gates I look around at all the friends I have buried. I thought high school was supposed to be the simple time in life, but if that's the case, why did they all have to go?