guns

A follow on from the previous post.

Consequences

Every man has a bullet,
polished and primed
engraved with his very own name,
by his own hand and
every man meets his doom
at the end of barrel
forged by others to fit
his very own bullet.

You get older, wiser and calmer as time goes by but that isn't to say your a push over. From this, I got a gun cabinet and then the following poem.

The Gun Cabinet

One legged pointers stand, snout to the air,
Coats gleamed by the master’s hand.
Idle now, they know their place,
Not to stray from beneath the chain.
The box imprisons their piercing bark,
locks the hunger for brass biscuits.
Yet, still faithful they stay
For every dog has more than just one day