How Many Lives Will End Like This?

The sirens screamed, and time stood still,

The air was heavy, sharp, and shrill.

Small hands gripped desks, the teacher’s voice

A whispered prayer, a desperate choice.

The sunlight filtered through the glass,

As shadows moved across the class.

Too young to know this kind of fear,

Too young for innocence to disappear.

The crayons snapped in startled hands,

The world unmade by cruel demands.

How do you teach a child to hide,

When schools become the place they died?

These hallways once were safe and bright,

Now echoes haunt the sleepless night.

Backpacks lie where bodies fell,

And childhood’s laughter turned to hell.

A mother waits. A father prays.

The silence lingers, endless days.

How many birthdays must we miss?

How many lives will end like this?

We bury dreams in tiny graves,

And place the flowers meant to save

A world that cannot, will not, learn

That peace is something we must earn.

A nation numbed, a scrolling screen,

Another story, same routine.

We light our candles, shed our tears,

But nothing changes—only years.

And still, I wonder when we’ll stand,

To draw a line, to take a hand.

To fight for those who lost their say,

To build a brighter, safer day.

But until then, the sirens call,

And childhood crumbles, one and all.

And all I hold is endless ache,

For hearts too young to be at a wake.

~RMC