I did not cry for Michigan.
It seemed before my time.
I did not cry for Jonesboro,
too far away to mind.
I did not cry for Palisades
even though it may be mine.
I did not cry for Conyers, Georgia.
By then it all seemed fine.
But I poured my heart right through my eyes
The day they shot up Columbine.
The tears they fell for children lost
And children on the line.
My head fell quick into my hands
for parents who must pine.
My eyes stayed glossy to a screen
Watching kids of my own climb.
But,
What shook my body up the most,
What made it hard to breathe,
What bolted all my stomach down
And wouldn't let me leave.
What made me think about those boys
And try to empathize
Was the fright, the fear, the look of death
In one scared victim's eyes.
She described a scene so horror-filled
So wrapped with movie cut.
I thought about these kids and film
what put them in their ruts.
I ruled out only media--
we all watch similar things
But combined with loneliness and fear
Who knows what games can bring?
One lesson to be learned from this,
The only one for which I'm sure,
Is that a gun manufacturer, movie title, music
lyric, parent, anti-depressant, Internet
trench-coat, insult, or whatever else,
Is not the thing at fault.
And no gun policy, censorship, parent in jail,
drug ban, Web-site check, dress code,
suspension, or whatever else,
Would have removed their every thought.
We must take looks inside ourselves,
accepting looks with love.
For what they didn't like in someone else,
Is what they saw in themselves.
