Thursday, February 13, 2014

February 13, 2014 We Write Poems The Mystery of the Gun

The Mystery of the Gun
Guns are not in my life...really
If you searched my home
You would find at least one
Instrument of death
No mystery there
Shoots bullet
Tear through flesh
Makes a terrible mess
Creates a terrible loss
Death or injury
Loud and noisy
I have no use for them
Enough sorrow
Enough death
Without my help

February 13, 2014


Brian Miller said...

a lot of it comes in the hands of those that use them...i think we are way too loose on who can have guns...i can go down to the flea market and get an assault rifle without passing a background check...

Sherry Blue Sky said...

I so relate to "enough death, enough sorrow without my help." Profoundly wise, Annell.

Raven's Wing Poetry said...

You're the second person who seems to have the same initial reaction I did. I hate guns. I won't stand in others' way to have them, but I prefer not to have one myself. Your last three lines are especially profound.


Anonymous said...

Am in complete agreement my friend.


ms pie said...

amazing that we can be so adverse to carrying to possessing yet there are so many who do...

kaykuala said...

Owning a gun can bring all those nasty episodes but why allow liberal use of them. Freedom of expression being given too much leeway apparently! Nicely annell!