If you fire into the air,
the sky does not forgive.
Even angels fall,
even birds forget how to return.
Never shoot at nothing—
nothing always finds a body.
A wandering bullet has no conscience;
it chooses walls, windows,
children sleeping behind doors,
the unseen heart in its way.
When you aim at another man,
pause long enough
to hear your breath argue with your fear.
Only death should answer death.
Between the eyes,
thought ends without a sound.
Through the heart,
love, memory, and rage
collapse into silence.
Sometimes survival pulls the trigger.
Sometimes mercy steadies the hand.
To shoot fast and true is a rare gift,
earned through discipline and doubt.
Skill without restraint
is only chaos wearing precision.
Soldiers learn it.
Peacekeepers carry it.
Police inherit its weight.
Those who live where danger breathes at night
learn it to stay alive.
The gun is born of violence,
cold metal shaped for harm,
yet we place it in human hands
and ask it to keep the peace.
