Tell me
That gun that you're so proud of
Why does it tremble so much?
Is your hand shadowing your unstable mind?
Is that the same hand that holds your child's?
Your emotions
Fragile enough to be crushed with a hug
Insecure enough to attack a compliment
Corrupt enough to endlessly reload on lies and deceit
Are those the same emotions you shoot into your wife at night?
Your bullets roar so loudly
What voices are you trying to drown out?
Your heartbeat clanks at the speed of the fallen shells
What are you so afraid of?
A man armed and ready to go off at any moment like you?
Tell me
What can you manage to defeat?
With those trembling hands
Uncertain of what to take aim at
You shoot down anything that moves
Uncertain of where the trigger is
You pull at anything you can reach
Uncertain of how much enemies are left
You forever stay in the trenches
I now know that when you bow your head at church that it's not for prayer
Then hoping to nullify your senseless you refuse to leave the battlefield
And take no-mans-land everywhere you go
You wear your bulletproof vest and rifle to the supermarkets, schools, offices, dinner tables, churches, and funerals
Forever firing
Forever charging
Forever defending
Forever fighting
Yourself.
YOU ARE READING
Blooming in the Sand
PoetryRoses are beautiful by default. So Rose buds are supposed to be full of enthusiasm and excitement for what's undoubtedly to come. Except, some aren't planted where they're supposed to be, and instead struggle desperately to manifest their beauty...
