At the Gate at the End of My Life
I had come expecting to have no regrets
because everyone said they had none.
I have danced, dreamed, sung. I have loved.
But the land demanded fairness for all.
I put on my shoes, walked the district,
got out the vote.
I say the politics are going wrong.
Sadly, my face fades in the twilight
that misses the dreams we had in youth.
Fearless, we would "ask what you
can do for your country" but darkness came.
It washes me in tears.
Rest, rest, rest for three lifetimes.
Then three times more.
– After Linda Gregg, "At the Gate in the Middle of
My Life"
But it wasn't "just another massacre"
But it wasn't "just another massacre"
for the woman whose foot once danced,
now a shadow in the dust.
For the boy whose arm held dreams,
now a broken wing on the earth.
For the man whose intestines held life,
now unraveling threads of a story cut short.
Shoes scattered like forgotten memories,
torn clothing whispering tales of loss.
For them, it was the end of the world,
a horizon darkened with finality,
where no dawn could break the night.
For their loved ones, a chasm of grief,
unfathomable, unyielding,
a cry that echoed into nothingness.
They left behind more than broken bodies,
but the weight of lives undone,
and the silent plea for a world
that would remember their names.
Disclaimer: This poem was generated by an AI language
model based on a prompt provided by the user. While AI’s intelligence is
neutral and operates without emotion, bias, or personal ambition, the
intelligence behind human actions can be driven by the darker aspects of human
nature.
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