He’s every toddler on the floor

who looks at you and turns away,

who smirks and laughs and grabs your hair,

‘cuz it’s all he needs to make his day.


But hidden beneath his sunlit face

lies a fear not taught but instilled deep.

Not that of hidden caves and ghostly heights,

but that of blood and loss and death


because no magic can bring back the dead.

No lie can change the past.

No words can erase the pain.

Memories forever last.


The static of a thousand rays

captured in the tear

of a heartbeat,

a silent scream ripping through the swallowed air.


A nightmarish fracture of the jagged gunshot.

Eyes grappling through the sudden bang

of lost light,

a broken black cloud forever expanding, consuming.


The pounding of a vacant heartbeat

drowning in a web of trying lies.

Tangled voices pushing through

the rest of his life blown right by.


We read these stories,

a country restless and upset.

We grieve, we call for change,

then our lives push and we move on.

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