In the dark calmness of my deepest dreams,
I hear their haunting pleas, and terrified screams.
I sense their deepest and darkest of fears,
See the salty droplets of their anguished tears.
It is within these dreams of broken silence,
where visions have I of such unspeakable violence.
They were chosen and targeted, were not ready for death,
These innocent victims who were deprived of their breath.
A mother loses a daughter, her life is now shattered,
A daughter without a mother, every night she was battered.
A little boy is taken from us long before his time,
By an unspeakable evil, with no conscious toward crime.
I reach out in my dreams, try to touch their pale faces,
These innocent victims from all religions and races.
I try to dry their tears, and to calm their fright,
But nothing I can do can make this seem right.
The silence of death has become their dark shroud,
And their screams for help cannot be heard out loud.
Only in dreams that become nightmares so cold,
Can their horrible stories of their deaths be told.
Glenn Bergen, Copyright, 2013.