Poetry

Landing

The metal hits the beach:
Soft. Hard.
Ricocheting grains of sands
Pellets of bullets spew from what is beneath.
Hurt is caused by little things,
Not the hard things that plummet.
Plummet hard on the beach, which should be the sea.
Not there, as the tide is out
Revealing the scars of what is underneath.
Scars which are put onto other people
By the anger of the same repelled by the metal.