Photo by Tsvetoslav Hristov on Unsplash
Heavy it rests within my hand,
an object of formidable stand,
forged of iron, wood, and chrome;
manual function, monotone.
---
The elongated form, firm in my grasp,
The consequences not to be taken in jest.
The weight scarcely do I feel.
Beware, for the aftermath is real!
---
I feel its chill against my brow,
can hear my teeth chattering now.
Yet within, only sadness blooms.
I pull the trigger! The weapon booms.
Comments (1)
This was so heartbreaking and tragic! Such a poignant poem!