We know the pen is mightier than the sword, but is the voice mightier than the gun? For what it’s worth, I hope so.
A boy and his gun
Were having some fun
When his dad got home from the army
He took him out back
They shot at his shack
And his dad went back in the morning
They repeated like that
Every year
Every time
A new piece of gear
His father was his hero of course
Three tours in Iraq
But more than that
A fourth one he feared
A fourth one to take his dad from his years
But he taught him how to respect his guns
And how to shoot and how to have fun
He taught him how to shoot at that shack
Just like his dad had shot in Iraq
And then when his parents divorced
And his dad left them
Alone for the course
He had to support his mom
And he said, “I’ll get a gun to protect you mom.”
“I swear.”
He struggled as he worked
From store to store
Longing for a weapon
To fight his own wars
But he never got one
He couldn’t afford
Because his mom needed surgery
And there was this girl, who worked at the store…
He wanted to provide for them
To control his own ward
Where he’d keep and protect them
And guard from the porch
When they came
He’d pull out his gun
And ward off his ward
To protect his sons
But he couldn’t afford one
And so he lost his girl at the store
And a few years later
His mother died too poor
His family gone
He now lived alone
Money problems over
He could finally afford
A gun like his father
Had taught him to sport
He’d finally be able
To fight his own wars
He got his gun
And he took it back
To where he’d learned to shoot
To shoot like in Iraq
He learned to fire
To care for and clean
His brand new, fully featured AR-15
Collapsible stock and quick magazine release
So he could shoot and protect his streets
And keep on shooting..
Modified to repeat repeat repeat
He shot that old shack ’til nothing was left but concrete
finally after the deed was done
on that same foundation
where he was cleaning his gun
he thought of his father
and remembered the fun
but his father was gone now
sixteen years weighed a ton
he wanted to cry then
but he held back his tears
his father had taught him
“real men don’t cry”
“their fire dries tears”
“they never give up:
they set fire to the world
and enchant the girls with
diamonds and pearls”
it was a valuable lesson
he held to its truth
though try
though he might
he cried like a fool
“my father was wrong..”
he thought
“…or might I not be a man?”
he stood up and shouldered his tool
to prove
his own truth in this war
to make things like they were before
he’d lost his father
and family to (((SJWs)))
who’d taken over his pews
and kept him their tool
he knew what to do
he’d strike at the source
he’d take his country back
and he’d take it by force
he’d stop all the marxists
their ideology
he’d take it all back
with his AR-15
and so he marched
with it strapped to his back
ready to shoot it
like he’d been taught by the shack
he took it over to district 67
and marched in the school at 11
he shot 7 teachers there dead
and fired 16 more shots
all of which missed
12 ricocheted and tore through the door
where a group of kids hid
twenty and
four
who were shot in cold blood
no way to escape
when he saw them lying there he felt
the tears come again
and the lies overcame him
like a bullet to the head
