Their Blood Cries Out

Victims of America's gun carnage.

I was seventeen years old.

Had my life ahead of me.

Until that day in April 1999.

I was at school at Columbine High.

Two students killed twelve of us and one teacher.

Then themselves.

I died that day.

I was thirty years old.

I was a day trader at work.

It was just three months after that high school shooting.

Another day trader came in mad and started shooting.

I died that day.

I was seventy-six years old.

I didn’t understand what was going on,

But I wanted to help.

I was a teacher at Virginia Tech that day in 2007.

I helped my students get away.

But I died that day.

I was twenty-six years old.

At a bible study at Mother Emanuel in 2015.

A young White man showed up.

We started praying.

He started shooting.

And I died that day.

I was eighteen years old.

I was at Parkland High School in 2018.

Another school shooting?

Yes, another high school shooting.

The shooter got a life sentence.

I died that day.

I was eighty-six years old.

Shopping at Tops Friendly Market in 2022.

An eighteen-year old man came into the store,

Opened fire, shooting thirteen and killing ten.

Including me.

I died that day.

I was three years old.

Mom and Dad took us to the mall.

Only my brother made it home.

Because of another crazy man,

I died that day.

Too many say nothing can be done.

They say our deaths is a price we must pay.

For freedom.

Were we free?

So free we died in vain?