I tried, on this day I cried… and then,
Words I needed to write were stuck in my pen.
Tears streaked my cheeks I felt my stomach flip,
Dry heaved I retched sweat gathered on my lip.
The ink thickened my stomach burned,
Try as I might my words had not learned.
Mine were too sad to leave my pen,
To speak of the death caused by men.
Who they had never met or even seen,
those who made their lasts a scream.
who stole mankind’s dreams
and left only deafening screams.
Trying again I lift my pen… and then
I don’t think I will ever find the right words but I wrote these on the night of the terrible atrocities in Paris.