Something about guns frightens me
Always has frightened me and I hate guns
There seems to me to be no good purpose for guns
All they can do is kill
Kill strong young men or kill soft, weightless birds or kill timid, big-eyed deer
And they kill impersonally, coldly, cruelly, finally—yes, finally.
And yet some men love guns
They lovingly clean them and polish them and load them and pull the trigger on them
And then they just as lovingly die by them.
by Carla Chlouber © Chlouber Estate