an ode to

the entirety of the doomed youth becomes poets as we are forced to write eulogies.

an ode to those lost in the cross fire

an ode to those adjusting to the idea of gun shots being background noise

loud enough to recognize, farmiliar enough to tune out

a constant battle fought in order to keep our adolescent hearts beating

schools remain schools, though the hallways feel more like crime scenes

the sounds of a childs scream

ringing louder and longer than a recess bell

the arguments for compromise are the anatomy of terror

it is time we discuss whether or not we love our ammunition

more than we love our children

it is time we discuss whether or not it is worth it for

for every classroom, every party, every movie theater and church

to double as a cemetery.

it is time we discuss whether or not it is worth it 

to be at persistant war with ourselves.

private guns have killed more americans since 1960 than all of our wars combined.

we are now at persistant war with ourselves.