Bite The Bullet
Sitting with the gun,
Staring at its dead black eye,
a cycloptic reaper.
The end of all things,
Just a finger stroke away.
Yet still I linger.
Do I greet the end?
Welcome the darkness gladly?
Stop the sorrow now?
Perhaps I should wait,
Pray for better tomorrow,
A much brighter day.
Can future hope be,
Enough to stay my finger?
A hollow promise.
A decision made,
Barrel against my temple,
I bite the bullet.
Isobel
Mon 13th Sep 2010 18:16
A very dramatic one Steve - you seem to be strong on this kind of impact poetry. Have never contemplated it myself - though a few may wish I had...
Pulling something other than a trigger normally helps the spirits immensely. Great take on the theme! x