Impulse and Intent

My first kill

I was five years old

A fruit fly landed in my book

And I snapped it closed

 

An impulsive gesture

The pull of a trigger

The pages thwacked together

And the deed was done 

 

I cried for half an hour

Staring at the page in horror 

A little dot of blood

And a twisted black leg

 

How quickly life had faded

Between my tiny hands

I'd meant to do it, but I hadn't 

Wanted it dead, but not for long

 

I first held a gun

When I was eleven 

My mom showed me the safety 

And placed it in my waiting hands 

 

She told me never

To look it in the eye

I knew, but didn't realize

What the weapon was for 

 

I pointed the barrel at a target 

Shaped like the silhouette 

Of some anonymous man or woman 

Even as a child, it's hard to be sure

 

I aimed for the heart

Then for the head 

I hit my mark 

And won a prize 

 

They weren't training us to kill

Except that they were 

We played at murder

And the playing was fun

 

The playing was powerful

I was exceptional

I hit the bulls eye,

And Death was a friend

 

Until that same friendly Death 

Held in different hands

Came for my true family 

For my true friends

 

Until Sarah couldn't feel her legs

Couldn't be saved 

Until seventeen students

Had fallen by his "heroic" rage

 

Until you realize 

That the same knee-jerk impulse 

That drives a child to smash a bug

Can propel a finger to a trigger 

Can make that finger twitch 

Just a tiny inch

And worlds are undone 

And darkness has fallen 

All for a gun

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country

Comments

artlee1820

nice analogy