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Sanpaku NationBy Leah Mueller QuailBellMagazine.com I have nothing to say any more about guns: except no one wants to be at the wrong end of one- the person on the opposite side is profoundly sure of his right to determine whether you live or die. How can anyone presume to make that call, yet it is heard in cities and rural areas in suburban malls and alone in houses and cars: the sound of explosions as life departs, leaving a puddle and glass. We decry the bloodshed on our shore and give approval for murder perpetrated elsewhere by earnest soldiers playing for our team, marching in lockstep under flags. How can we lament our own deaths, and care so little for the ones we create- defend our leaders by saying that is just what leaders do: they kill in front of us, with our full approval. We make sure to vote for one or the other lest we be considered bad citizens. Meanwhile an American boy raised in New York City buys an assault rifle and blows a nightclub to bits. Look at him now with his eye whites visible under dark pupils, a machine run amok, soul-less box enraged by love: love between boys, love that must be killed. I sit on the opposite end of the country while my own heart beats in my chest: frail and twitching like a bird's- but I am the lucky one, I can still breathe. Light a candle, promise to love more and better, because this broken clock is always running: time is a shell game, and no weapon will save you. #Unreal #Poem #Orlando #Tragedy #GunControl #DoSomething Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
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