Every time, not just occasionally, but

every time I hear of a senseless death

at the hands of a lunatic,

the ones who believe they are

an avenging angel of death, of retribution,

of dark black clad mindfilled with hate

reckoning bathed in their own

self righteous haze,

I think of you.

 

It is bad enough you haunt my dreams

that I dare not sleep at times

because I know you will

come to me like a lover scorned,

Poe like finger shaking as the rotted corpse

of your death still angers you

and you blame me for not saving

your life, though I tried

so very hard to do so, I tried

to save you but your last gasp of air

in my lap, blood spotted on my shirt,

still makes me weep.

 

I weep for all those taken by violence,

whether by gun, bullet, design or fist,

but please stop haunting my dreams.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016