I’ve been thinking about—
all the kids whose lives have stopped
before they ever really started,
and all the families drowning in their sadness
regardless of whether laws are changed or not—
it won’t matter, because theirs is now a world
forever etched in the pain
of those whom they loved—now martyred.

Yet not willingly nor for principle
but for going to class to learn about how beautiful
this world could be with its endless possibilities
but not for them—no, not for them—
who have been cut down in the dawn of their youth
and now we are left to sing for them
and utter thoughts and well-wishes—in vain
until it happens again and again
and the cycle is never to be unchained
and then who will sing for the children of tomorrow?

Who will sing for the children of tomorrow,
and will it be songs of gladness
or will it be sorrow—
a tune becoming all too well-mastered
for a generation that knows only of disaster
and pain—these are the ears that we’ve trained
to silence the hope there will ever be change,
to sever the rope that cannot be recovered
to pull us up from the chaos and mire.

The only prayer I have to offer
is O Lord how long, and how much longer
shall we wait and be witness to grief and horror
as we find pieces of ourselves in the broken—and suffer
in our search for roads that lead to nowhere
and find no comfort in the places we’ve known
and all we can do is to cry for help—spare us,
O Lord, have mercy, for we are helpless—
until our voices can carry us no longer—
who shall sing for us then?