From Heart to Heart
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TRADING GUNS FOR CAMERAS When I served a life of a hunter, killing animals on plain and forest, When high by a toppled tree, through my scope I did in see, a beautiful Elk of exceeding size, bellowing out its mating cries, a voice would speak within my ear, of slanted essences of yesteryear, of lived and learned expectations, passed down from past generations, "When shooting hold your breath", "Square your shoulders, do your best So I learned it well, deserting not, to shoot, kill, miss not a shot, hide away my own compassion, to make killing my own great passion So as emotion shrank, and cruelty aged, and a slate of death became a page, when all was done, good or grim, I was left no fear of beast or men When I serve a life with military men, learned shooting others was not a sin, I found inside curdled deep within, passion in killing not beast, but men, I caught a demon, grasped at faith, and found myself a questioning, Who was I, a beast, a man, or pigeon, but a single man in a life without religion, So a turned a leaf, left my home for first base and traded some guns for cameras in a case, Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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