A Prayer for Matthew
Little one, so meek, so mild,
you truly were a special child.
You walked among us for twenty two years,
a brave little boy, you had no fears.
You looked for the good in all of us.
Your generous heart gave us trust.
Hatred came to take you away,
its only excuse, you were gay.
The pain you endured we can't possibly know,
you were beaten and strapped to a fence row.
Burned by cowards from head to toe.
The perfect victim for starving egos.
Hanging alone you began to cry.
Tears washed the blood from your eyes.
You cried through the night, but never gave up.
You held on for your family, but had suffered too much.
The hatred that took you wouldn't go away,
it came to your funeral and taunted your grave
Your parents were there to bury a son.
The hatred showed up, to remind everyone
My God, My God, in Heaven above,
I pray that Matthew, can now know love.
This Bloody Day
We start the day like any other,
reviving to a world innocent in conception.
Racing to meet deadlines,
eager to arrive at our destinations.
Our minds preoccupied with duty.
Our attention on daily routine.
Nothing could detract our agendas,
until the screams began.
Screams of terror stricken children,
echo through halls of death,
lending fear to our own back yards.
Unknown assailants take aim on their peers,
Gunshots ring out, hostility runs rampant,
bloody children bring reality to a stunned world.
Scorned students with mask march like soldiers,
through halls and classrooms firing at will.
Their eyes offer no answers,
their lips provide no clue.
Hate blasts its anger
towards anything that moves.
The world outside falls silent,
as we halt our lives to pray.
Nothing could save the innocent,
not on this bloody day.
Where are the Children
Where are the children,
does anyone know?
We miss their smiling faces,
we miss watching them grow.
I hope they're happy
where ever they are.
Each one is special
and dear to our heart.
Where are you Jacob?
are you still out there?
Your family still loves you,
they search everywhere.
Do you still eat peanut butter
and sneeze at the sun?
Do you still go fishing
and play hockey for fun?
It's been years
since that October night
when the man with the gun
took you from our sight.
You are missed by so many
who pray every night.
Maybe one day,
we'll know that Jacob's all right.
Where are the children,
does anyone know?
Where are the children?
We miss them so.
 Breakfast at Grandmothers
Rhythmic bronchial rattles,
compressed nasal eruptions
and the song of larks,
work in harmony
as a prelude to dawn.
The old house begins popping,
squeaky boards and clicking
light switches signal activity
as a figure maneuvers
through the darkness.
Grandmother's house slippers
scuff across the wood floor,
her head down, fastening her robe,
a scent of vanilla
trails in her wake.
Dishes clang in the distance,
a hot skillet sizzles,
a coffee maker perks
as the scent of bacon
and eggs awaken the senses.
 Christmas under the Snow
You always loved Christmas,
especially when it snowed.
I still remember our journeys
down Grandmother's road.
Your hands filled your pockets,
for no gloves would you take.
Warm smiles on your face
melted the snowflakes.
Year after year,
on each Christmas Eve,
we'd make that special journey
and not wish to leave.
So many memories
were made on this night,
though none were more special
than when it was white.
It's that time again,
and I wish you could go,
but this year you'll spend Christmas,
under the snow.
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