the bullet rushes through the air
pierces through the sky
leaving a trail of smoke behind
it cuts across the death of night
killing all silence with its speed
lights the sky with its glimmer
       too fast to stop
       too late to take back
it spins like the earth
rotates round and round and never ends
it keeps going until it destroys its target
               us
       we are the target
           but we pulled the trigger


© copyright, 1998

poetry
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