Upon A Shooting In Virginia Poem by Sophia White

Who can comprehend? It is too great.
Weep all through the night
Fill the lonesome hours with our tears,
Wonder numbly at the wasted years
That shall never be lived.

Who can answer “Why? ” It is too deep.
Stare up at the stars
That shine softly, seeming not to care
With all the time and indifference to spare
On us who wade in tears.

Who can offer solace? It is too sharp,
This pain which pervades the body
And slices right to the core of the soul
And reverberates there like the midnight toll
Of the gongs that signal death.

Who can move past the memory? It is too real.
The faces, the dreams, and the fates of those
Who were loved, by someone, somewhere,
And who loved as well, but now they’re
Already left behind by Time.

Who can look ahead now? It is too far.
The future is like happily-ever-after,
Something we dream of, but do not believe.
It seems that dreams have ceased to weave
Their hope into our lives.

Who can acquire confidence? It is to strange,
This terror which has struck may strike again,
These thing tend to work that way, it seems.
Does life only fulfill the wicked ones’ dreams?
It certainly appears as such.

Who can comprehend? It is too great.
Weep all through the night,
Fill the lonesome hours with our tears.