The blood of youth lost
drowns their laughter and their joy
and ours, too, gone now.
And our grief goes deep;
they are our children, ourselves,
we mourn, life cut short.
In our pain and fear,
our anger boils up at those
who will do nothing.
Their thoughts and prayers
comfort none of us, but fuel
our ire, voices loud
now crying out;
our silence, kept now too long,
is silenced, crying
in the wilderness
of our Hope, that our children,
we ourselves might live.
The blood of youth lost,
mourning these children
in the wilderness of Hope.
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