Fifty-five grains, a tiny, minuscule weight,
One which barely tips the scale,
For an object that possesses a profound power,
That will change your life and the lives of others,
Forever.
One eighth of an ounce traveling through the air,
Faster than the speed of sound,
Leaving no time for a reaction, reconsideration,
Or retraction,
Ever.
Three-and-a-half grams of absolute finality,
Driven in a split second,
By fear, anger, sadness, madness,
Or a momentary lapse in judgment.
Indefinitely.
Once triggered, those emotions are left with the finger that pulled it,
The bullet is now guided by the laws of physics and chemistry.
Its path is set by the direction of the barrel,
It cannot be recalled, redirected,
Or stopped.
What could one do with all that power it gave you,
Once you have lost it in a muzzle flash,
And now must bear the consequences,
Of that action,
For eternity?