At birth the gun was fired
and I expelled from the comfortable chamber
fated for an unknown bullseye
one I could not perceive
Through my life I erratically spin
still not knowing of my final destination
almost afraid that I have been poorly aimed
and that I will badly miss where I should be
I have ploughed through many obstacles
and hundreds more stand in my projected path
threatening to deflect my flight
or to halt and absorb completely
No matter what happens I will fall
when my momentum is no more
hoping to be melted down and recast
ready to be fired again when ready
for another shot at life
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem