The Writers Voice
The World's Favourite Literary Website

Fire

by

Kyle Blount

Did you think it was funny,
Watching everyone suffer?
And those who survived,
Will never recover.

Your angry was clear,
Your despair was certain,
But that didnít mean,
You had to drop everyoneís curtain.

You broke into the school,
Before the teachers came,
And carefully check your list,
So you didnít miss a name.

You knew all the lockers,
The combinations as well,
You wanted to give payback,
To those who gave you hell.

Your revenge would be swift,
Yet painful to all,
For those high on the social ladder,
You wanted to see fall.

You planted the bombs,
Inside the lockers,
Not ever once thinking,
Of innocent walkers.

The school bell rang,
And off you ran,
For now was the start,
Of your fatal plan.

The students filled the hallway,
Barely room for walking,
And then entered you prey,
Surrounded and talking.

Standing at their lockers,
Just for one moment,
It seemed time had stopped,
Just before the lament.

One by one,
They opened their lockers,
As horrified looks,
Soon drew gawkers.

The clocks hit eight,
And exactly on cue,
The bombs detonated,
Seemingly out of the blue.

You watched form afar,
As the school set ablaze,
But then it hit you,
And you were suddenly amazed.

You had hoped for pain and suffering,
But as you stood, struck dumb,
You realized your error,
And the cost would be no sum.

You knew you were responsible,
For the deaths of many,
One solution came to mind,
To you, it was better than any.

You knew you were responsible,
For the deaths of many,
One solution came to mind,
To you, it was better than any.

You found a pen and paper,
To write a farewell note,
Then swiftly gripped your knife,
And swiftly slit your throat.

As the fires were put out,
And the bodies carried away,
Your carcass was discovered,
No one knew what to say.

Were the to feel sorry for you,
For all the pain you had?
Or should that shout in rage,
For all your decisions were bad?

Your funeral was barren,
No one appeared to care,
About a brilliant boy,
Who snapped out of thin air.

I visit your grave now,
Almost every day,
For no one deserves to die,
In such a depressing way.

Critique this work

Click on the book to leave a comment about this work

All Authors (hi-speed)    All Authors (dialup)    Children    Columnists    Contact    Drama    Fiction    Grammar    Guest Book    Home    Humour    Links    Narratives    Novels    Poems    Published Authors    Reviews    September 11    Short Stories    Teen Writings    Submission Guidelines

Be sure to have a look at our Discussion Forum today to see what's
happening on The World's Favourite Literary Website.