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A.H. Scott: Funeral in White Lace

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Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2016

 

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Poetry by A.H. Scott

 

“FUNERAL IN WHITE LACE”

 

A million guns

A million tears

Can a bullet mollify our basest fears?

Beefs, slights and cutting eyes abound

Damnit! Did you hear that sound?

Sound of the bullet whizzing past your ear

Or, was it the wail of a mother standing over a fallen loved one

Did you hear about the grieving mother’s son?

He was shot by a friend over something so trite

Probably over a girl they fought about last night 

Could have been over those sneakers that were ever so fly?

But, then again…does anybody really ask why?

Urban and suburban, the bullets shatter lives in split seconds

Damnit! Did you hear that sound?

Gabby Giffords and several others spread on the ground

Defense says he’s beyond sane

A bullet was lodged in her brain 

Damnit! Did you hear that sound?

Latest Batman flick, let’s go and see it quick

Joker filled the night with pain and sorrow

Hair dyed and demented gaze on his face was what the world saw

Damnit! Did you hear that sound?

Tiny chairs empty from the massacre of quintessence in Newtown 

Killer took those who hadn’t lived life yet and did so without regret

Damnit! Did you hear that sound?

Let’s go dancing and have a drink

Pretty simple way to relax, you think

Club filled with pulse of life was destroyed in a hateful strife

Seems that some who are filled with such despair don’t appreciate the beauty of life

Love and decency ever so common have been smashed by hearts filled with poison

Hammer of hate is the gun in their hand of frenzied fate

Damnit, that sound is heard again and again!!

Guns don’t kill people we are told with a straight face

Tell that to the mother of the departed at the funeral in white lace

Constitution is a parchment of liberty which has to keep up with today’s pace

Shotgun on the back porch was what existed when the Constitution was written

But, now a weapon that fires multiple rounds is taken as a given 

Oh no, don’t get me wrong, I believe in the Second Amendment, too

But, how many guns does one person need?

Seems like the question can’t even be asked without hearing blowback

Dens of reflection where laws are debated are not the streets where core passions are stated

Second Amendment is howled with parrot precision every time a newsflash of tragedy comes across the screen 

Beneath the domes of hollow compassion sits those whose careers are bolstered up by cashing in

No poor boy, no poor girl

Two-fisted shakedown in a lobbyist swirl

Parchment of liberty breathes a sigh

After all it is the Constitution, but we do wonder why 

Apathetic public hasn’t a clue

No one would believe that we don’t know what to do

Yet, the blood splatters the streets of America from projectiles of death daily

More bullets!

More guns!

More death!

More funerals! 

More murals of memory!

More mothers wail, more fathers weep 

But, we’ve got a person who wants to build a wall ever so steep 

Build that wall!

Build that wall!

High enough on your petard you shall fall

Gotta be tough as nails with brass balls and cold as ice 

Kissing the NRA’s ring should suffice 

North, South, East, West, when will the pain end tragedy’s quest

Under gunfire attack in the streets of Dallas and Baton Rouge came without warning 

America is in mourning 

Even after all the tragedy, an irony is laid bare

In the state where the wall builder shall appear, there is a law for open carry 

Funeral in white lace and blind allegiance to the Second Amendment shall now walk hand in hand down an aisle of melancholia and marry 

Tears flow from sea to shining sea 

Funeral in white lace is a place you pray no more souls shall ever be 

 

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About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional poetry by A. H. Scott, go here: http://tonywardstudio.com/blog/h-scott-threaded-choice/

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Photography by Tony Ward, Copyright 2016

 

 

This entry was posted in Blog, Current Events, Friends of TWS, Poetry, Politics, Popular Culture, Women.

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