The Pen or the Gun

I keep singing songs about things I don't have

Taking down notes that claim life's not so bad

My scattered thoughts seem to clash, contradict

I tire of doing things I alone picked

Everything matters to at least one

Yet I coast through my life until it is done

Crumpled old paper and bleak, gloomy ink

Are my humble tools that allow me to think

I sit back and stare at clear open skies

While this tar-littered smoke fills my lungs and my eyes

Everything matters to at least one

But I'll take my pick from the pen or the gun

Reviews

[Emma Grace Tennyson]

Thank you both! Sorry it's taken so long to respond!

[Sam]

A fine piece, to complement the February blues.

[A. Amos]

Emma this is beautiful poetry and even the title is powerful, you penned the whole poetry amazingly specially the last two lines..good job my friend