In a city street a boy falls to the ground,
Bullet piercing through his heart,
The gun steals all sound.
Looking on, a young boy stares,
Heart lurches as he sees his older brother laying there.
The gunner runs as a mother lets out a cry,
It’ll take forever for her to accept that her son has died.
The young boy clenches his fist, but no tears fall,
His emotions being scattered, he can only stand tall.
As a young boy of eight, his thoughts towards life changed,
From being open-minded to being fuelled with hate.
Seven years on, a boy walks down the street,
Walking towards the shop, he drags along his feet.
His phone rings in his pocket; he drops his bags at the sound,
A girl speaking on the phone makes him sink to the ground.
Fifteen years old, just been told he has a daughter,
His girl went into labour; he says ‘I’ll be right there’, as his voice falters.
Happiness fills him, with the realisation of a child of his own,
All his family had gone, now he’ll never be alone.
Sprinting down an alley, rushing to be by his girl’s side,
He approaches a corner a little too wide,
Running straight into a person, he pulls himself off the floor,
Extending his hand to help the person as he overcomes his fall.
Eyes stare back at him, and the boy freezes with pain,
Remembering events that had long since left his brain.
The gunner stares back at him, knowing the boys face,
He could’ve run by now, but seeing the gun in the boy’s jeans, it would be like running a lone race.
Pulling before he thinks, the boy draws out his gun,
Ready to pull the trigger, as blood colours the sun.
A shot is heard, followed by another,
Both boys fall to the ground, crimson liquid covering each other.
They both had shot at the same time,
Bullets firing together, committing the same crime.
The boy lies on the floor, tears filling his eyes,
Knowing he’ll never get to see his daughter, unless its from the sky.
Slowly his breath decreases, as a crowd gathers,
Looking at the boys who misread life’s matter.
A sigh is heard as the boy understands what he has done,
Instead of ending the problem, he’s lost instead of won.
Another child will be without a father, another woman will cry,
A repeat of what had been, at an earlier time.
If only things had been different, this could have ended long ago,
Instead of creating a circle of hurt, with numerous people, dying slow.
Why should this many people suffer for an age-old feud?
When will it end, when the whole gun industry dies too?
