A Bullet

A bullet costs less than a quarter

A life is cut shorter


A bullet is made of lead 

A life is dead


A bullet is fast

A life's wound is vast


A bullet hits hard

A life is scarred


A bullet is loud

But life has allowed

For a bullet to exist 

Rather than blacklist


A bullet hits all they say 

It makes the news straightaway


But a bullet costs a quarter 

And life is its importer 


This poem is about: 
My country


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