It’s just a way of life

said the man with the gun,

you win it or you lose it

and when all is said and done.


But the odds and the favour

can be tipped from over here

by a warm winning smile

from a boy with no fear.


They say that respect

is a game hard won

but they can’t see the smile

down the barrel of the gun.


The feather on the trigger

tipping fate on its edge,

no begging or beseeching

can reverse a given pledge.


The days turn into nights

and the winter beckons,

the clock upon the wall

ticking out the short seconds.


Of a love hard won

on a tall family tree,

hear the click of the pin

as the feather flies free!


At the moment of truth

we find the missing piece,

the puzzle of a life

destroying desolate peace.


We live our short lives

along the barrel of a gun,

from the dawning of time

beneath the rising sun.


And the bullets let fly

dealing death all around,

a hail of thundering steel

as they tear into the ground.


And the steel from the sky

becomes the sand in your face

as the tears on your cheeks

wash the windows of fate.



Written by Darren Scanlon, January 2014.

Revised 9th May 2015.

©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.



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