Bullets Poem by dustin kulsziski

Bullets have no name in a game of charades;
they rain on parades of guns and berets
and aviator shades.
And with the sunrise
headlines
invade roadside
diners and truckstops
-promoting carnage and carrion to go with your coffee
while this generation
is generating
veneration
for hate
and devastation
dropped bombs
and chainsaws
believe in salvation
for a nation
under God,
and In God We Trust!
war is a must
to defend what is just
with a
CLICK-CLICK
crashing calamity
this clash of humanity
in this valley of ashes
takes me back
to a black night
cloaked in the shadows
of a blacker day
when i lay in wait
with bated breath
and nothing left
but blood on my hands
blood thats slowly dripping;
-I can hear that steady
drip
drip
drip
as it drips past my finger tips
finger tips that fumble to grip
slipping time
as it
slip
slip
slips
past a crack in the hourglass
and into eternity