the loaded gun
I dare not pull the trigger to
this is not a poem about death
it’s about life
it’s about how
though why
hangs before me like a
swirling blue question mark
the question mark on the chest of the poet
who whispered sweet nothings
beside the train tracks
so long ago
full steam ahead
kiss kiss
bang bang
what trigger can
or should be pulled
ask me no questions
and I will tell you no lies
how do you answer how
when you don’t
know why
what other questions are there?
the trigger waiting to be pulled
longing for the ache
of the warm finger
wrapped about it
the explosion of sound
and color
and the
what?
that is another question….
and who?
ah
and when?
you? me?
they can all be questions.
but the answer
that is loaded gun
cocked and waiting
waiting to be answered
your life is calling
and despite the fact that you can’t discern
the question it is asking
you must pull the trigger
or not
it’s your choice
Reblogged this on letters to the world..
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