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MY WORD: An ode to Ol’ Sandy Hook

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By Brian Lee Estill

And the Angel of Death stood there weeping

Early in the morning of December 14,

When the little village of Newtown, was sleeping

He thought his trip would be for one, and not any others

He was sent, because a disturbed son,

 Had murdered his own mother

 

Walking around on grass and the clover

He heard the One On High say,” You’re job is not over”

He had arrived there early; the morning was crisp and cool

He started to head toward, the elementary school

Anxiously waiting, nervously pacing

He didn’t want to be there, his thoughts were racing

“Why oh lord have u sent thee,

This is a school and no place for me!”

 

The faculty arrived, then the students as well

Everything was normal as far as anyone could tell

The sun was shining and the crisp air warming

The fog was rising and the teachers were performing

Everything seemed normal, even boring

 

The Angel of Death, not knowing who or how many he would take

Sat there weeping, knowing what was at stake

A car pulls up and a dark figure emerges

He has guns, and toward the school he surges

And the angels teary eyes heavenly upward look

BANG! BANG! BANG! The silence was broke at Ol’ Sandy Hook

 

As the shooter rampages throughout the school

It was anyone’s guess if he would ever have his full

Hungry was this monster, great was his pain

Nobody knows why and nobody can explain

He hunted his young prey and shot when he could

Tried to kill everyone, he felt so misunderstood

 

Once a child himself, lonely and despondent

Maybe with his parents, he never bonded

Maybe they tried to help him, but he never responded

Anyway, I’m sure he was funny and was a regular kid

But nothing, can excuse, what he did

Now we pray to the savior, and are prayers are time fillers

This once baby boy, just became an disgusting child killer

 

The angel was in shock and horror of what was transpiring

He thought the monster would stop at one or two, but he kept firing

Fearless little Emily Parker, was coloring with her crayons and markers

When the monster came into her room, she defiantly made herself bigger

Hoping to be his only target, he kept pulling the trigger

 

Principle Dawn, went down like a good captain, of a seagoing vessel

We may never know why this monster did what he did,

 And with this question we will always wrestle

With rage in his heart, anger and depression,

 We may never be able to answer, any of these questions

 

The monster had finally had his fill,

Satisfied at last at all his kills

Turning the gun on himself, he ended his own misery

He will always be remembered

The monster of Sandy Hook

 In American history

 

Finally the last shot was heard;

Nobody wanted to move, not believing what had occurred

For only a few hours of being on the ground,

 The angel took 28 souls from the little village of Newtown

27 souls he delivered at the pearly gates,

 But one would not be let in,

And it was no mistake

 

The weeping reaper wiping his teary eyes,

Gave the monster a glaring look

He grabbed a pen and reached for a large book

He said “You will never hurt anyone again, like you did at Ol’ Sandy Hook

Outside the pearly gates the soulless monster was standing

The reaper spoke again and said”

“In heaven there can be found mercy, but for you; justice will be demanding

This is the lamb’s book of life and all who lives

It is filled with names of those, whose love they freely give

Whatever happens to you only time will tell

As for your sentence, and we all agree…

YOU CAN BURN IN HELL!”

 

Brian Lee Estill lives in Shelbyville. This poem is published without adjustment for style.