Pull the Trigger

What is pure
Is everything shes stored,
In wait of her hero;
She waits evermore.

Why does it seem the voice
Of this Hero is never quite strong enough??

They come and 
They slash.
They cut 
She bleeds.
Dried up
Shes done-
No love
They leave. 

A new waterfall forms
But its not beautiful, no,
Nothing to adore
When Mother's tears flow-
a river cutting its way through the
Forest floor.

Go ahead. 
We dont need that forest.
Cut. Cut. Cut. 

Oh yeah,
Oil in the ocean?
Dig that hole;
If there's a spill
No worries, we can just go back home.

And that white tiger-
Beautiful creatures huh?
Bet it'd look just
SPLENDID
Posted above your mantle.
Or even better, a rug.
Yes rugs are nice. 
Pull the trigger.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace