writing

Death Rode Into Boulder Last Night. And He Was Not Welcome.

On March 22, 2021, a gunman opened fire in my grocery store. Ten people, including a first-responding police officer, were murdered. Since then, we’ve spent time with friends and family in contemplation of the simple fact: it could have been us in that store at that time. My reaction to the shooting was to pen the following. I share this piece with you in honor of all those who lost their lives that day, and those who continue to unnecessarily suffer due to violence, hatred, ignorance, bigotry, and fear. There are no simple solutions to complex problems. But, there has to be a better way forward for society.

Death rode into Boulder last night. And he was not welcome.
Some were there to see, brushed aside by his kiss.  
On them a scent will forever linger, terrible and cold.
Others,  weren't so lucky. 
A muzzle's flash. 
The veins of the innocent were opened, and in the aisle of that snowy spring, they died. 
Silence. 
Footsteps approach. The bullet comes. Cease the anxious waiting.  
Gunpowder smokes. Spoils evaporate. Loss, spits bitter and empty. 
Sorrow exits the souls.
Implacable rage. Grief hounds. Evil insatiable, flowers.
The salty tears from this mourning aren't just water. 
How can we be strangers now? 
Death rode into Boulder last night. And he was not welcome.
                                                                                               -- Scott Allen

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