Skip to main content

We Must Change By The Hand



Deny
Destroy
Defer
Disgrace
Dreadful
Double Speak
Death
Destruction
Demon
Devil


We must change, we must change, we must change.  Children should not die at the hands that hold weapons such as these.  We must change.  Rights are not rights to slaughter. Nonsense in mass murder. Cowardice in suicide. Children should not die at the hands that hold weapons such as these.

12/14/12...not again...my heart hurts for Newtown Connecticut and the 20 children and 6 adults murdered at Sandy Hook Elementary School.

Comments

Laura Lee said…
Thank you for putting into words your reaction, which mirrors mine, to this slaughter of the innocents.
Parissa said…
This was so beautifully said.The truth in your written words shine brightly and shouts for ears to hear them. Thanks for sharing.
Parissa said…
This was so beautifully said.The truth in your written words shine brightly and shouts for ears to hear them. Thanks for sharing.

Popular posts from this blog

Bridges by Tayé Foster Bradshaw

Walking across time ©Antona Smith, taken in Alabama, 2014 Bringing me to you or you to me over a way through- tears and fears to bring us to the other side of possibility probability reality reality crossing structures through over under Crossing from New Jersey. ©Antona Smith 2016 hold on don't look down look down walk on over dance on over wheels on over over over over water and roads and all the modes that bring me to you or you to me collectively connected collaborating across the great wide way ©2016. Tayé Foster Bradshaw Group, Antona Smith. All Rights Reserved. Bridges used to scare me as a little girl. In the town where I grew up, in order to get from my neighborhood over to the swimming pool or summer activities, we walked. I was always fine until we reached the crest of the hill and that looming structure that connect roads-to-roads, over cars zooming beneath, promising me opportunity on the other side, if I just

Black Mama Tears

It rained this afternoon Loud claps of thunder Almost couldn't see the rain For my tears falling down Black Mama Tears too many dying in their sleep on a run at a store too many stopped just walking just working just breathing It rained today And I couldn't see for all the weeping of Black Mamas.

If I Die In The Mourning

Life spilled out like unspent tears watering a desert of dried up promises scattered like sand on an ocean floor absent water and mist to quench love's thirst. Left shrivled up and parched in the bright sun of expectation that the perfect shell would open up like an oyster waiting for the pearl to drop. Lying on the bottom of the pebbled walk stepped on like shards of brilliant glass clouded by the wetness of blood poured out.