Shooters Poem by Dean Meredith

Every bullet was made by a mind
And every bullet was shot by a heart
And every bullet was hit or miss
And every bullet was in or out
And every shell changed something
And every shell was cold and hot
And every shell was smooth and rough
And the hands that held them
And the hands that fired them
And the eyes that saw them
And the bodies that felt them
Were distant no matter how close
Were shameful no matter how clothed
Were sorry no matter how righteous
Were wanting no matter how complete