Bullets Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Funny thing with bullets trillions of them are fired every year
hitting nothing only pushing air aside for a brief moment.
Bullets are not birds that fly and have useful destination, say,
catching insects. A bullet’s only purpose is hitting flesh and
it is not very good at it, but if there are enough of them filling
the air someone is bound to be hit. I saw a forest totally
denuded by artillery shells and gun fire, trees looked as hells
kitchen, yet when silence as it always will in a war, rabbits came
out of their burrows feeding on grass. War is meaningless to
animals, but noise disturb them and foxes seek shelter in ruins
eating whatever they find, that might be a human eye or a torn
off hand. If a soldier only fired his gun when he was sure to hit
someone, I do not think munitions makers would be happy,
and tell a soldier to shoot and use his rifle more.