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Tuesday, 27 February 2007
Living and dying all over again
Contributed by Bill Faith

The Bullet
Bob Prinselaar

The bullet was fired, not into space but into time
Instead of lead and brass, the bullet was made up of many things
Of pain, and gut wrenching grief
Of hatred and rage so fierce, it glowed
Of lost friends and buddies and guys you barely knew
Of fear so bad you made your own midnight movies
But hid so well
But mostly of memories which were unwanted
And smells that came from hell

When the bullet was fired it was outgoing and therefore good
But because it went into time it changed over the years
And even though it was mostly forgotten
It was still in flight, and as a comet it turned
Even though misted by time
It became incoming with no place to hide

The bullet came and pierced my soul
I had bunkered my life, my defenses were strong
So I thought
Then the layers of shell all fell away, and I was caught naked
And it started again
All the crap in the bullet was with me again
And now
I’m living and dying
All over again

Contributed by Bill Faith on February 27, 2007 at 12:34 PM in Bob Prinselaar, Poetry | Permalink

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