These Three Letters ~ Philip Brent Harris
It’s never just frightened students who die,
From weapons sold to those who mistrust,
By strangers, in boardrooms, sick and sly,
Who these deaths profit, so die they must.
They ignore truth, as parents’ tears glisten.
Teen blood oils gears of the NRA machine.
Death drums, screams, too awful to listen.
Future promise reduced, meager and mean,
While wealthy misers yearn to live forever.
Thoughts & prayers bid murdered goodbye.
Everybody’s bled by this callous endeavor;
It’s always humanity who suffers and dies.
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