I don’t know why I wrote this tribute to the lives lost at the Newtown Massacre, but here it is.
Who are you that I should care,
when I’ve always looked past,
never batting an eye.
All my pasts cold and unequivocal,
that now I should scratch,
and tear my hair in anguish.
That I should bare my soul,
and show the world an empathy so deep,
that I can feel something crossing the electrical newswires,
and mourn your passing,
as if you were my children,
and I’ve lost my children so many times;
Their ways are myriad, legion.
The span of minds who mourn you, today
cross the world.
Their hearts pouring into the same
vast pool of interconnection;
and its psychospheric micro-chasm.
We wrap our hearts and minds around
the incomprehensible context,
of how something so tiny,
could touch so many lives.