The Columbine School Shootings

Craig Scott was one of the survivors of the Columbine School shooting. His sister was the first one to die, although his family only discovered this the following day. This poem is based on the researched event.

We were laughing and joking as we ragged Matt ‘bout his date,
He was trying to impress her but he still turned up late.
Then we heard the sound of “popping” out the library door,
Someone shouted out, “They’re shooting! Get down on to the floor!”
Our hearts were pounding in our chests; we did exactly that,
We hid behind the desks and chairs, Isaiah, me and Matt.
They burst into the room and we heard the gunfire rattle,
Sitting in America. In school. The sound of battle.
The screaming of students, the manic laughter of a guy
Told me they’re not fooling ‘round, today’s the day I die.

I heard them coming closer, they walked right into my view,
Couldn’t believe I knew them, it was Dylan! Eric too!
I closed my eyes really tight then, as if to block them out,
But I could still hear frenzied chaos raging all about.
I heard them talking to a girl, she answered no then yes,
She tried to say the right thing but they shot her too, I guess.
Could hear the woodchips flying from the bullets ricochet,
And the smash of broken glass from the buckshot’s deadly spray.
Heard the slump of bodies falling, heard crying out in pain,
Heard the cocking of their guns as they loaded yet again.

I felt I couldn’t breathe, the sweat was pouring down my face,
As those boys were killing people, and shooting up the place.
My heart was thumping so damn loud I was sure they could hear,
The room writhed with cruel intent and students’ helpless fear.
Eric came to where we were, and knelt down as he taunted,
He called Isaiah racial names; always I’ll be haunted.
Then coldly shot Isaiah as he lay there next to me,
Dylan came and knelt with him, as we crouched down knee to knee.
He stared at us with killer’s eyes, then shot Matt in the head,
My best friend’s blood sprayed over me as I faked I was dead.
Right there and then they killed my friends. I waited for my turn.
But suddenly they moved from me, I felt my teardrops burn.

So I lay in my friends’ blood, felt the lukewarm change to cold,
I knew we’d never be the same, no matter what we’re told.
They’ll tell us what; who’s to blame; some inane motivation,
Some psychosis, some dark cause, some insane validation.
We’ll never know the reasons why, and do we really care?
Two messed up guys destroyed our lives, and left us dying there.

Syllable count 14 aabb rhyme



At least three new books seeking to understand the Columbine shooting in Colorado are coming out in time for next month’s 10th anniversary.Two are written by journalists who covered the rampage and then spent a decade looking into the killers’ backgrounds, the government investigation and survivors’ recovery…

Seniors Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold killed 12 students and one teacher in less than 20 minutes on April 20, 1999…
The boys did not target jocks or minorities. They aimed to kill as many people as possible. Some victims happened to be athletes and minorities.Ultimately, both authors come to a conclusion about why the attack happened. But they differ on that too.

“I think Columbine and other school shootings are an outgrowth of the South and West of the United States, and suburbs and small towns,” Kass said. “In suburbs and small towns, if you’re an outcast in high school, you feel like a loser through-and-through because there are no alternative outlets to find your self-esteem… And in the South and the West, there is a mentality that if you feel your honor has been injured, you take it upon yourself to retaliate.”

“The reason Eric did it is because he was a sadistic psychopath with no conscience and not to stop him from hurting anyone,” Cullen said. “He did it for enjoyment and self-aggrandizement.”
Klebold, he said, was intent on suicide but might not have killed if he hadn’t befriended Harris.