A poem, why we must take another look at gun control
When are we going to take a stand?
What has happened to our world? Where did we go wrong?
Perhaps it started in the seventies and eighties when we listened to the hippy songs
I think it happened much later
When we stopped caring and decided there were no wrongs
We stopped caring about our neighbors who lived just down the street
We became so busy
We didn't even look up to speak
Anyone can buy a gun, it's so easy to do
Just show the gun dealers cash
And a deal is surely to go through
They care nothing about the innocent life they may kill
It's that image
Of the mighty dollar bill
We must as a nation take another look at gun control
Too many are dying
Leaving a gaping bullet hole
The answers are not easy as hunters love to hunt and kill
Innocent animals who suffer
From the hunter's thrill
But the carnage has grown much deeper they now want to kill our precious children
It's up to we citizens of America
To bring an abrupt end
To heroic seekers who want to be remembered
Mental illness must be considered
They are sick
And we must look at that aspect again
The children of the bloody massacre have all been laid to rest
Leaving a hole deeply embedded to all who was sickened by this vile sadistic hatred of our very best
Will we now admit that military guns that shoot a hundred rounds
Should be banned from the public, and gun shows be shut down
The NRA is powerful, its' gonna take the people to stand and say, " no more "
It's a proven fact that the only ones who want to keep the weapons are criminals who kill and love the heartbreaking bloody gore.
More by this Author
This is poetry about two young lovers who spent most of their time on the beach until the storms of life blew their love into the sea.
My muse is constantly bugging me to take her south to lay in the sun on sandy beaches in Florida. Maybe I will. The election blues have got to go!
I was watching the sunset on a drab, gloomy day, missing my hummingbird's who had already flown South, and watching my squirrel, Squiggley store pecans for the winter when my muse took flight.