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