Own

First snow is falling,
One flake at a time.
The sun right there,
To warm us all up.
I'm in my garden,
The grass is soft.
The birds sing above,
What a day to be shot.

My brother and father,
With me in a queue,
And the cold barrel,
Of a colt .22.

They're saving bullets,
The bloody pricks,
One for the three of us,
They're hoping that,
It will stick.

One look at my life,
And it is very clear,
It has all been a,
Colossal waste.
Dear oh dear!

Never saved the world.
No buildings no book,
Carry my name,
Not an art or craft,
I can claim to own.

Never even felt,
The warmth of a woman.
The weight of gold,
In my purse,
Or a song on my lips.

There will be no mourners,
Or roses at my grave,
Even the bullet that,
Snuffs out my life,
Will not bear my name.

They were right to think,
The big bad world,
Doesn't owe me a thing.
Cause it doesn't,
Not yet anyway.

This can't be it.
I couldn't even,
Die with myself.
Rage and hatred,
Calm my being.

This isn't it I promise,
As I kick out my
brother's legs,
From under him.
And the gun goes off.

Missing every head,
It finds a wall.
Before my brother,
Our assailant,
Completes his fall.

The adrenaline pumps,
As submission turns,
To brutal whim.
They didn't know what,
lay in store for them.

They never really,
Get over the shock.
Soon guns change owners,
And the original ones,
Have been shot.

Satisfaction flows over,
My butchered esteem.
As I watch the blood,
from their wounds gleam.
Payback is cleansing.

I raise my fist,
Up to the sun.
Swear never again,
Will have life won.
So this is what,
It feels like to own.