MORE THAN ORLANDO
Orlando,
tomorrow is forming
no more as we pretended
mourning informed by scores
our innocence ended
sinisterly splintered bodies
friends once befriended
so senselessly littered
amid the tears on the floor
screams nestled in ears
literary of incinerating oratory
raining fears from the pulpit
spun from bits of underneath
threadbare wreath of prayers
and thoughtless thoughts
blame in twitter feeds
hateful message boards
drawn from darker parts
thier oblivious hearts
as though this hideous massacre
were ordained by their Lord
harbingers of terror created in the garbage
of their own hateful ignorance
people everywhere bleeding
from either side of this sword
We are more than Orlando
so very much more
We are the memories of these so needlessly bleeding
beneath the ceiling of a war torn dancefloor
We are our neighbors kneeling on the streets of Baltimore
the extraordinary knowledge
we all too quickly ignore
We are every virgin whore standing on the corner
the importance of our beautiful truth
We are the incorrigible
adorable youth
We are every club kid with a sweet tooth
dancing in our fruit colored underwear
We are a leather bear with a mischievous sneer
and the cub with a cupboard full of fetish gear
We are another unrequited crush
hearts dared never touch
We are the fags, bull dykes, weirdos, trans, drag and queers
We are in the living memorials to those no longer there
the hopes of a young couple
dreaming of years forever married
who were instead in these hours
under scattered flowers together buried
between these shattered waters
we are forty nine mothers,
sisters and daughters
forty nine fathers, brothers and sons
in all forever unfinished and now never begun
We are those tonight who are proud
to wear our pride on our sleeve
those from whom the thieves stole
not our achievements
left behind when we leave
wrestling from us everything
we’ve come to believe
murderers who stole the brightest of our smiles
stealing all of our goodbyes
seizing all four seasons
and every sunrise
our every wish without reason
silencing our eyes and the sun from the skies
shells from the turtle and the swells of the ocean
for all that might well forever
be unfinished
and never begun