Gun

Slowly giving
With the immoral vanity of a loaded gun,
Wielding the promise of a new day,
Of a new time,
Of a new world.
The hairpin set
To trigger the happiness, or the end,
Faulting none in its reproach,
Feeling the blanket cover the worth
Of an individual's sacrifice.
The days they do go by
Frequent in there passage, yet hindered
By the malevolence of attitude
Pressed to the pane of an essence awakened.
Followed through the path,
Stepped lightly with soles of crystal bondage,
Sacred in the way;
The coin is tossed.
The fear within,
Donned without regret for immoral judgments,
Tempted into existence for the well-being of one
Not meant to relate,
But for love's sake,
Let loose uninhibited.
The air cleansed
By the rain of tears embellished with remorse,
The loaded gun pointed,
Unknown to the way the wind will blow.


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