The Vigil by Rick Hartford

The vigil has become an institution On the streets of Hartford. Grieving mothers and families Their faces wet with tears. Or not. Unable to cry any more. They cast their sad eyes down to the street, As the Rev. Brown raises his bullhorn And beseeches At the blank apartment windows Above him. Give up the murderer. Those windows stare down Without emotion. The dully glinting glass, Like the eyes of the gunman, Who has left another innocent life Snuffed out like another candle Into darkness.