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I wrote this poem in remembrance of those that died on 12/14.

Night fell upon Newtown on a cold chilly morning in December, a day that everyone there will always remember. The shadow of a dark knight had traveled from mountains west, far, far away. It came looking for innocent souls, and used a crazed youth to take twenty six of them away that day. Principals, teachers, mothers and wives, young boys and girls with big playground eyes. Two to the chest, one to the head, bang-bang-bang, and they were all dead. Nevermore the pitter-patter of 40 little feets, bouncing off the walls in the halls like joyful drum beats. They sleep softly now under the dirt, but you can only bury their bodies, not the hurt.

There were so many, but to name only a few. There was Charlotte Bacon, the little ginger in her new pink dress and boots, what a hoot. James Mattitoli, everyone called him J, he loved hamburgers, and bacon, but his mom’s French Toast the most. Ana Marquez-Greene with her big grin, she will surly smile when she sees her family again in heaven and wonder where they’ve been. Caroline Previdi--silly Caroline, and Madeleine Hsu, the shy girl who loved dogs, I am sorry that we couldn’t protect you. The teachers tried, and many died. They flung themselves at the madman to no avail, and tried to use their flesh as a shield, but the bullets tore right through them as the gunman refused to yield. Poor kids, they should be outside playing, or coloring pretty princesses and unicorns in their books, not lying in pools of blood at Sandy Hook.

At least they are free, free of this terrible place. What now do we the living do? First the assassins came for our presidents, then our kings, do we let them have our children to? The one who can’t be named was clearly insane, but who to blame, him…them…us? The NRA can’t even understand why there’s any fuss. How long before we confess that Bushmasters and AR-15’s aren’t really any good for game like deer, but great for human beings, especially, horribly, for pre-teens it seems. Please hear their silent pleas and stop the madness, this gun craziness is bringing about much too much sadness. They are looking down upon us now, like the sun through broken clouds, can’t you hear them softly cry as they ask—mommy, mommy, mommy…why?

Originally posted to jkojak67 on Mon Jan 28, 2013 at 04:38 PM PST.

Also republished by Shut Down the NRA.

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