There comes a time within some lives,
When sparrows fall
and voices fail,
And all that is,
or ever was,
Holds not one single claim
to what will be.
For twenty-six,
and those who cherished them,
that day has come.
To steal the promise
of a morrow they will never see.
It was but a school.
A place for learning nursery rhymes.
A springboard to the finer things.
A haven for the callow of our towns.
With violent rage
meant mostly for the innocent
and young,
A monster tore from them
the joy of youth and life
That is the birthright of the child.
Bereft of all
that makes the living what they are,
The small now lie in clumps
upon a schoolhouse floor,
And share the space with those
who used themselves as shields.
This “Troubadour of Hell”
left in his wake
a field of carnage so grotesque,
That Death himself
looked on the scene,
and wept.
That morning’s light
has cast a shadow
on the nation’s soul.
Again,
a half-staff zephyr
tugs the hem of “Glory’s” skirt,
To flap and flutter
in our hearts and minds.
And what of those
who live the nightmare of their life?
A dream
from which they cannot wake,
The bonds
of which they cannot loose.
Their hearts are broken so,
There is nowhere the pieces to contain.
I think the time has also come
For us
to put the mirror
To the nostrils of “The Dream.”
To see if it is truly dead
as well.
Must we be always heirs
to madness and despair?
It is the sentiment of all
that this should cease,
Yet “Glamis” murders sleep anew,
And platitudes abound
where empathy should reign.
I offer nothing but my tears to those
who have more than they need,
And prayers,
for they have not near enough
to keep them.
David A. Egan
East Hampton