Gunpowder.

I hate

Gunpowder.

The cannon was fired,
Thick, black, and shining in
The sun that shone rays
Too graceful for such a weapon.

Struck, I fell
Toppled, doubled over
In pain? Not yet.
Surprise took the first ride.

A crack in such
A heavy ball
Let precious few chemicals invade
My defenseless bloodstream.

Inhibitors.
Preserving cold feelings
For even colder life forms.
I became cold.

Not the summers glare
Nor compassion’s humidity
Could successfully outrival
The goose bumps.

I staggered with the cannon ball
Sinking further into me.
Shots came, but they were much smaller,
Insignificant to my
Already malfunctioning nerves.

Lack of vindication passed,
Just like all the other excuses.
The war was impregnated with distortion,
Both mentally and physically.
I closed my eyes and grew vain.

At last good souls kneeled,
Offering patience, warmth
And good aid.
All they needed was a worthy trigger,
But at that point in time I was much too
Arrogant to ask nicely.

 
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