The Virginia tech Massacre (Rough Draft)

Clouds wisk through branches,
Echoes through dead trees,
Leaves are still falling,
In the eternal breeze,
I wish what I could say,
Would turn this world around,
But bullets fly overhead,
Everybody deaf to the sound

Trying to make sense of it all,
What roots have grown in dust?
Once thought as inconcievable,
Was planted in a sudden gust,
Looked out from this hill before,
Shadows fall over that time,
Handcuffs of cocked rifles,
And the massacre's bind