by Brad Miller
This pen, this weapon of peace
wielded with love
bleeding tears on paper,
words of caution…
Yeah, you could stab me with it
but I’ll take my chances
You tried to teach me to hunt
I didn’t like it
You protect your guns
your bows and arrows
your private property
like you were the sheriff of your own little town:
John Wayne, or John Wayne Gacy?
Gary Cooper, or D.B Cooper?
You won the west in your imaginednation
but the sandstorm affected your vision.
Was that an outlaw or tumbleweed?
Intruder or next door neighbor?
Your good guys and bad guys are crossdressing
at the rodeo and you can’t tell the difference
because everybody has guns,
and no one has justice…
just dust…
it’s all bull now
but I will write your story
since you blew your fingers off with your quick draw.
FSC Spiritual Expressions 