Suppose I told you about the killing
Not of enemies but your neighbors
You’d say it can’t happen here
Until you’re forced, until its clear
And rubbing your eyes does nothing
They’re innocent the murdered ones
Latin: not harming—innocent
Gunned down, people you know
Or knew—or knew—or knew
We listen for their steps
But they’re already gone
The good ones
People next door
Planet of the Blind 