A Bullet

A bullet costs less than a quarter

A life is cut shorter

 

A bullet is made of lead 

A life is dead

 

A bullet is fast

A life's wound is vast

 

A bullet hits hard

A life is scarred

 

A bullet is loud

But life has allowed

For a bullet to exist 

Rather than blacklist

 

A bullet hits all they say 

It makes the news straightaway

 

But a bullet costs a quarter 

And life is its importer 

 

This poem is about: 
My country

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