All was clamor where they'd play,
but silence became of the lambs;
their air shot dead
wounded by the lion's eye.
A suffocating intrusion
heaving to endure the bind
while protectors scramble
to shield the innocence.
Too late were their reactions
and young lives fell negated.
Young lives taken,
boys for men
playing I hate you with bullets
rather than with the swing of a fist.
-Jg