I am become death, the destroyer of worlds

- Bhagavad Gita

Mixing death with laughter,
strolling corridors with
trenchcoats flapping wildly,
boy and boy gone mad, a
tiny mob, just two, just
two against the world they
thought unjust, a world turned 
upside down with bullets,
screams, and fear,  with begging,
sobbing, hating, dying.

Bullied now are bullies;
bullies now the victims,
taunted now with actions
past, with slights imagined,
slights intended, cruel 
remarks that pained the 
hearers more than sayers
could imagine, outcasts
then, pariahs  eating
cold revenge with relish.

Power held by powerless,
guns and bombs and fear of
death that humble those who 
humbled you, temptations
far too strong for loners
dressed in ebon trenchcoats,
longing to belong, but
long denied, temptations
too for copycats in
other schools, other days.

Hide the guns?  Some will
find them.  Stop the hatred,
killing all the haters?
Will we then be haters?
Are we then much better?
If it comes, salvation
must arrive in tiny,
tiny steps, in random
acts of kindness, friendly
smiles, a gentle touch, civil
deeds and soothing words.


Written June 1999 by David L Brungart - © Copyright