Noah write a poem a few months ago for his English class. The prompt was a topic on youth violence, and was part of a national competition called Do the Write Thing.Well, his poem, Salvo (below) was chosen as the winner for Buncombe County! In lieu of the normal banquet, the dignitaries visited our house to present him with his award - a new Ipad. He was thrilled and we are proud.
Click here for the press release...
Salvo
By Noah Graham
North Buncombe Middle School
We pledge to our flags flying
Stand as people are shot and families start
crying
The red stripes wrapping around our throats
Choking out words of ignorance and false hope
You say the gun isn't the killer
The shooter or machine, which one has a
trigger
You say lock the doors, keep the kids safe
inside
When visions of murder and evil torment your
kids’ minds
We cry out to God, Lord, when will this end
As if he looks away, these scars are ours to
mend
The invasion of darkness taking teens’ minds
Leaving them depressed, with a gun, and the
dead kids behind
We have threats at school of a death, bomb,
or shooter
And when a girl tries to speak out
No, you are wrong, then they mute her
With each kid aware, him, her, or they
We inch towards solace and the end of the day
.
The night still abuzz after fourth of July
You stop as distant fireworks pop in the sky
A modern day fear, you say to yourself
What if that bang was a single gun off a
shelf
The adults don't know what to do with their
rights
Our amendments are scattered, but the second
stands bright
Even the elderly stand, with their guns proud
and high
But can they tell me how many more children
must die
We just want gun control, maybe control with
the climate
Video
games aren't the cause of this murderous mindset
To be felt alone, and the sadness inside you
Mental illness is something not enough love
will just do
So don't tell me you have guns, and fear your
daughter's life
Your own closet is full of deceased
children's cries
Your military weapons drip with disease
A
disease we call murder, first, second, third, or whatever degree
But
what can you do, as you sit in your class
Afraid
of the freedoms that need to be regulated at last
Your
teacher will teach you about math and the revolutionary war
But please teach your friends about something
much more
About
the hundreds of schools that will have a shadow
A
shadow of hate, stained with the smear of salvo
Tell
them about the kids
You
could learn their names
How
they were murdered, and their deaths were treated as one in the same
You
can die in your sleep, peacefully of age
And
when people mourn, they would have predicted that day
But
to have your life stolen
Swiped
from under your feet
A
child, against a gun, and the gun refuses to be beat
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