Poetry & Essay: Portrait of a Tragedy

Portrait of a Tragedy

He wakes up again

to the news of children

gunned down by an unknown

man.

He showers like normal

and breakfast is the same cold

you might hear in a voice

today.

Before leaving, he forgets where

he dropped his keys last night,

pats himself down in panic: his sides,

his back pockets, his heart,

but there they are on the table

by the newspaper, splattered

with pictures and inked words

that almost have no meaning.

There’s a photo of a dead man

who looks like anyone.

Next door he hears everything

his neighbors shout

and their infant wails.

On the sidewalk, he watches

as a little girl moans,  

trailing behind her mother’s phone.

He brushes past them

down his road into his routine.

Work will consume me,

he trusts; he prays

it’s only a bad beginning,

a day that feels clouded

even though no clouds cross

the everyday blue,

another day where nothing’s changed,

except suddenly he doesn’t know himself.

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Yesterday, we heard in the news of a gunman who went into an elementary school, killed many of the children and some of the teachers and finally himself. Words do not adequately describe how horrible this is from every angle. 

And yet to me, I feel like I have heard the news before. Not the same place, not the same people, but, sadly, there have been many shootings in my time: movie theaters, universities, high schools, open streets, downtown areas, suburban neighborhoods. The gunmen themselves have all been different and I'm not saying that these have been orchestrated by anyone, but nor can I say these are isolated events; there is something in our culture that is rotting away at people. 

Someone, speaking about this particular event, said, and I paraphrase, that this time we need more than sympathy and condolences. But is it laws that we lack? or do we lack moral discipline? do we seek to establish what is good and true and right? or do we proclaim that whatever someone does there is no wrong or right, that truth is relative? Forgive me if this offends you, but the latter way of thinking, that of moral relativity, is one of lies that feeds tragedies like this. This tragedy was not born in a vacuum; the world that we live in, the world that promotes selfishness, pride, greed, egocentricity, lust, casualness, passion over reason, sloth over diligence, and vice over virtue, has contributed to this. And so have we if we support that way of thinking. 

Now is not the time to look outward for blame; now, as always, is the time to look inward and evaluate if our moral standards need to be raised. Change begins first with the self, then to those around us, then to those around them until it spread throughout the world. But if we are unwilling to become better moral people ourselves, then we are part of the rot that leads to the moral decay we saw yesterday and see everyday.

In essence, this event and my thoughts on it is what led to this poem. Where does the man in this poem fit in? Wherever you lead him, I suppose. This poem is meant to be what it says it is: a portrait. But which is the tragedy? Aren't there many tragedies in this poem? I hope this poem and this little essay of sorts make you think and that your own thinking may lead to change for the better.