Each sunrise hands my heart a loaded gun.
Each sunset counts
the bullets that are left.
I lose the day if I shoot even one.
I have to hold my
fire, or I’m effed.
But that hot trigger strokes each angry kink
In my self-centered
soul. It calls me “Stud!”
It tells me I should rage instead of think
And meet imaginary
slights with blood.
Lashing out is so easy, isn’t it?
Biting like dogs;
clawing like feral cats.
But if I would be human, I must pit
Restraint against
revenge, lay down my gats,
And heal the
hurt my hatred is born of,
And take a bullet
in the name of love.
Copyright 2017 Matthew J Wells
1 comment:
Beautiful. Thank you.
Post a Comment