The Ghosts Of Sandy Hook - Haunt

by matthew scott harris
(schwenksville, pennsylvania)

I URGE READERS OF THIS ODE TO ACT IN SUPPORT TO RESTRICT THE EASY ACCESS OF FIREARMS!
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SANDY HOOK ELEMENTARY SCHOOL RAMPAGE – December 14, 2012
Tribute to those slain at sandy hook elementary school ™

I read the terribly tragic news oh boy
about unlucky kids
at a Connecticut elementary school
thus a spark in me
heavily languished from deadly ploy!

The steely bullets lit
tinder - kindle ling bastard
nemesis illicit throve illicit
pandemonium didst sting
this papa s if his entire being hit
by mortar rounds,

and his mouth hooked dry like sandy grit
from cold bloody merciless killing,
whereby logical explanation does not fit!

Hours after the merciless horror,
(already five years ago)
I dialed me younger sister in bend, Oregon
and over the phone did cry

per wanton massacre
and loss of innocent children,
a part of this dada did die
no matter this papa

of two darling young adult daughters
each day he does espy
open mouth and wide eyed Shutterfly,
how the years of their lives

(And mine) ever faster fly
yet, a figurative stab
to the heart tore up this gentle guy
felt obliged to blubber love for sibling,

while attempting to say hi
whereby psyche rent asunder,
who would sacrifice himself to lie!

asper distraught fathers
and/or mothers heart broken for
beautiful daughters and sons
only thru memories can only adore

from cleft psyche, gut-wrenching,
woefully torment
searing within mind doth bore
recovery from such loss

prized progeny well nigh impossible chore
haunted by priceless offspring,
neither surviving
papa/ mama can never a door

not ever again hearing
soft pitter patters across floor
mental angst fraught with blood & gore
this haint mooch different,

than a g.i. Joe in battle fatigues
locked in moral combat with korps
indelibly etched in conscience
bent on evoking nightmares

like an ogre of folk lore
once happy go lucky faces smile no more
nor
will horror of grief abate,

but continue to pour
inducing incessant screams
from tigress roar
that remain in cerebral store

vis a vis an awful imp prim a tore
hammering, nailing,
wrenching, et cetera phantoms
once genetic gems of yore.

thus, upon a bed of nails or
suffer any mortal pain well nigh
for my
precious progeny,
whose innocence like apple pie
to the core

their angelic souls parental guidance
yes, sometimes
oat k shun ally goes a rye
but never could this father fathom...

a momentary sigh
at beauty and innocence in children flush
with zest and unbounded energy
sans novel experiences those mowed down

will NEVER BE ABLE NEW ADVENTURES TO TRY
now, he only stares blankly
at the bloody headlines wondering WHY???