I know I write this too often. I just remember being eleven, confused and sad that someone had murdered my classmate's and his siblings' dad. You don't kill dads. The school stayed calm but there was a tension, and seemed to be more silent men in suits for a while after. I can still feel those memories.
I don’t think you can say such a thing too often; we ought to never be unaffected by this kind of brutality - murdering someone actively calling for simple recognition of basic human rights.
I know I write this too often. I just remember being eleven, confused and sad that someone had murdered my classmate's and his siblings' dad. You don't kill dads. The school stayed calm but there was a tension, and seemed to be more silent men in suits for a while after. I can still feel those memories.
I don’t think you can say such a thing too often; we ought to never be unaffected by this kind of brutality - murdering someone actively calling for simple recognition of basic human rights.
I'm seriously wondering how so few people can be trusted these days. Your poem expresses that frustration.