Whisper, whisper my little gun,
together we have so much fun.
I keep you loaded right by my side,
together so many pop, pop, they died.
Rhythmed, trigger, aced up shots,
no scope or aiming dots.
Blood bled, heartbeats fade,
it's in America we are made.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 11th, 2026 04:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
A poem that speaks its sentiments regarding guns and their potential damage. Nicely said
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