A bullet cannot choose
It can kill a tyrant or a priest
Bullets are misunderstood
They are loathed
And loved at the same time
History can be changed by a single bullet
I own a company that manufactures bullets
My bullets are sold worldwide
For all I know somebody has died
The victim of one or more of my bullets
Whilst I was writing this pathetic poem
My company has made me very rich
Yet my true passion is poetry
You might find that hard to understand
As I do every time I lift my pen
Saul