Uncontrolled

As bullets score the floor 

With statistics left coiled

And lives left spoiled

By another human being

An agony we keep seeing

In an America we keep deceiving

Decreeing is safe

To be

To go

To try

My oh my that American dream

Vanquished by a night lit up 

By sparks

Of outcry and rage

Left behind like the bodies 

In an attack’s wake

Before the funeral

So surreal 

Is this feeling of shock so powerful?

That we often forget 

That every mass shooting 

Has a mass funeral?

Every argument over mental illness

Stomps on the illness left in hearts

Of those left behind

Undefined.

What kind of mental illness could it be

That spreads like wildfire in the sea

Of love democracy promotes

Denotes

Devotes?

What kind of mental illness could it be

That distinguishes terror from terror

Based on color

Not action?

We need action.

Not reaction

But proaction.

As a kid, terror meant terror

As older siblings and bullies terrorized

And you felt terrified

Of what’s to come.

“Stand up for yourself”

Says the dad to his son

The mom to her daughter.

As an adult, terror means nothing 

Less the color of the trigger isn’t white

“Don’t stand up,” shouts the man

Behind the counter

As the man behind the pulpit

Named executive

Tweets “Get Down.”

What a let down

As Congress regresses

And the public’s left digesting

Another dozen stories left untold

Dog tailed by explosions

Never to be taken from their hallowed shelves.

“Don’t stand up. Get down”

Blame the man

Not the gun

A slogan of a generation 

Wrought with indignation

Against the passing of potential

Bills that could save lives.

Blame the man

Not the gun.

But what if the world isn’t looking for blame

But a locomotive of a congress no longer lame

Ducking for cover?

I don’t care who’s to blame

I care who’s been slain

Who's been discarded

Disregarded

By a populist that falsely promised dreams

That were guised nightmares.