Harmony In The Bleeding World

The lifeless bullets bound as captive predator in the restive barrels of the cold guns of war, chilling cold as the brutal shadow of death, waiting camouflaged in the dark, wake up at the strike of the trigger, pulled by the frenetic fingers of entranced men. In God’s own world so humane once blood flows thick as incensed streams, bullets rip through the buds of dreams. The homeless soaked in blood drift as aliens as terror flares up in their forsaken hearths. The bullets to accomplish the lethal mission, whiz in feral freedom on the wings of fire, carry the predatory quirky caprice of insanity morphing into spiteful insensitivity, and shoot off toward the fated targets, deliver the blood-scripted message of death. Let all the bullets stop midair, abandon their fatal flights of lunacy, refuse to become the cold blooded killers, stop and shed the facet of fanatic fury, fling away the fatal intent in the free air and disappear from the bleeding world forever. Let the life they get from the forceful fire in the stillness of the deadly barrel, blossom into flowers in the arena of war. Let them entice instead the living to breathe in free will the fragrant air in the beautiful world of harmony.