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Like many of you, I’m sure, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the school shooting in Newtown on Friday. I am just overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness. At least with Hurricane Sandy I could send money or Home Depot gift cards to those who were suffering, and feel like I was at least helping a little bit. For this, all I could think of to do is write. So I sat down and wrote a poem this morning. I am thinking of everyone touched personally by this horror and wishing I could do something more to alleviate their pain.


What good is it to write in verse
of sadness, rage, a vicious curse
that visited a small town bright
with 27 gone by night?

How does it help to hang our heads
at 27 empty beds,
to watch TV and taste the pain,
to feel the anger, place the blame?

So from TV I turn away
and numbly go about my day.
Working, shopping, laundry, dishes.
My soul ablaze with young unfilled wishes.

They say that Evil came to call
but that’s too simple to explain it all.
That means there’s nothing we could do.
How sad, how awful — is that true?

What does it mean to move along
while others suffer? It feels so wrong.
“Life goes on,” but it seems so cruel
when 27 are lost at school.


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