This poem is written in memory for the Columbine kids that were killed and for all the others that were touched by his terrible act of human indecency.

One tragic day in April,
At the start of the school day,
Two boys come in and one exclaims,
"Let's make those bastards pay!"
The ricochet of bullets,
The cries of those despaired,
The boys just kept on shooting,
They never really cared.
The shower of the shrapnel,
It never seemed to end,
But little did those children know,
The horror just began.
Victims trapped inside of rooms,
As the two boys outside cheered.
"Look, there! We killed the nigger,
But our works not quite done here!
We must kill the weak and homeless,
And people big and small,
The Jews the poor the mentally slow,
Let's kill anyone at all!"
One teacher tried to warn them,
But he's just slightly late.
He tried to help and then got killed,
It must have been is fate.
Why didn't anyone tell,
About the gangs that killed that day?
Why couldn't the boys,
Have thought of a better way?
Parents outside crying as
Their children are brought out dead.
Stunned by the fact they were given,
Death wishes made of lead.
This tragedy could have been prevented
If people tried to stop.
The gangs in town, or paid attention,
Or just employed a cop.