It was never meant to happen
Rather it happened far too quick
A whisper rent the fabric
The days end with a tick

And they all run in silence
From the colorless scene of dread
Recoils, a gun, not for violence
For greed, or even for bread

A bullet distorts around us
With kindness yet unknown
A face contorts, confusion
And never, once, have you grown

They were never meant to happen
They ignore far too quick
The whispers rent the fabric
And our perspective snaps shut with a tick