An ode to the hundreds of children who were massacred in the terrorist attack on a school in Peshawar, Pakistan
On a bright, wintry day of December,
A day the whole world would remember.
A temple of knowledge turned mausoleum,
After an act of terror-laden mayhem.
The dreams of a hundred lives torn,
Leaving behind beloved ones forlorn.
Their last day to feel the warm sun,
As they fell to bullets from a gun.
Some had dreams of healing others,
Some wanted to become famous authors.
Numerous wished for eternal peace,
Sick of terrorists and the police.
But terrorists attacked that day,
Loaded with many bullets to spray.
Innocent blood spilling on the floor,
As terrorists broke open each door.
And when the rain of bullets ceased,
Survivors crawling over the deceased.
The feeling of loss crossed borders,
Anger rising against the marauders.
Nothing would bring the children back,
They are just names in another attack.
It is for their country to now decide,
Whether terrorists be allowed to hide.
Because terrorists have no religion,
They aim to cause fear in each legion.
Believing in the worth of their cause,
They justify their heritage of loss.