Poem — A Lost Voice

A gun and a television screen, the machine and its noise
The children screaming, all for ratings and losing the fight
Only after the deaths may we say, that these kids have a voice
It comes to the point, where it becomes a bad joke

When Valentines day becomes another massacre day
Here we are, yet again, deaths next mad master stroke
Or a boy, led to hate is calm while he shoots never reluctantly,
Perhaps led to believe, that love will come to him in TV lights

In calm voices our children are told what is safest never was
Nor what was beloved was never protected nor the safest
When it comes to one another, God, or Democracy
It will not matter, when our friends and loves are dead.

Although maybe it was so that children become beasts
Under the law of the land or the violent rites of the hateful
Whether hereditary or even consequently we learned to hate
Or taught fearful moods because of the nightmares we are fed

It did not matter that one another called the other mad
What we are taught to fear comes to us naturally at an early age
Oracles of the past, whether right or wrong
Seem to be a better compass than the centre stage

History is no morality tale; it is written by only the future
A future that learns its morals from the past, as well as its follies
So tell us then, what may we learn when we see the screen
What may we think of the past, will that become our sage?

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