Funny Poem by Anson LongSeabra

A gun is a funny thing.
It's a miracle of human engineering,
A marvel nearing the scale of the light bulb or air conditioning or
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the automobile.

The gun is what fueled human progression,
through a bit of aggression and a lust for power
the firearm has enabled generations to
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take what they want,
when they want it.

See, this wouldn't be so much of a problem
if the price for human desire fueled by a fire
arm wasn't
life;
Your life and mine,
the achievement of a billion years of
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genetic success.

I once heard it said that if the universe tried for one billion more years,
it could not create an exact copy of you;
why then, do we feel the necessity to end the triumph
of a human heartbeat with a
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Congratulations, humanity,
you've tossed your desires above reason,
and in almost a form of treason against reality
decided that the power to end life is a god-given right.

Your spoils of war,
they shine.
How do they compare to the once shining eyes of
twenty young, bright minds that
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resided in Connecticut?

Does the ability to snuff your enemies out like a candle
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Satisfy you when
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twenty young, bright minds
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look into the barrel of a gun and
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say goodbye to
recess and
snack time and
their families
because of a
trigger pulled
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Click.
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26 "clicks."
How many more are we going to take?

A gun is a funny thing.