Guns are things of death
Tokens of misplaced masculinity
Macbeth knew well the last sharp breath
How blest to rest in benign sanguinity
And sweetest - the tempest - of these dark days
To identify boldly ignorant in the righteous right
To kill innocence of youth & creatures tender grace
That feather and fill our hollow hours despite
"Hope" resilient yet in this golden land
There in the vastness of morning sky & the depths of seas
How do we value life's polar extremities
And keep the spark of hope alive - in me
