To those on the wrong end of a gun,
song is not a shield against a bullet,
poetry won’t transform a bullet into a flower.
But a song can shield the mind that pulls the trigger,
poetry can be the flower that inspires the man, the woman
not to pick up the gun, not to pray for murder.
What must we endure until words are found between
the mind at the end of the gun, the finger that pulls the trigger?
I long for the day we turn ourselves to song and poetry,
not continue this confusion of bullets and creation.
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