First he shot at the sun - and missed, of course,
Sun was simply too bright and far;
Then he shot at the moon and missed, because
It has made his bullet a star;
Then he shot at the wind and missed again,
Shooting air is shooting breeze,
Then he shot at the cold wind-driven rain -
Rain avoided his shot with ease.
Then he shot at the sea - it parted, and
Silver bullet got stuck in mud,
Then he shot at the songs that never end,
At the sound that boiled his blood,
Having missed yet again, he then shot himself
Just to break this unending spell,
And a photo fell from a dusty shelf;
He was out of bullets. Well...
About the Creator
Vadim Kagan
I believe that each day is a blessing, every story is amazing and all poems should rhyme!
Instagram: @whines_and_rhymes
Facebook: www.facebook.com/vadimkagan
Comments (3)
I can think about this one for a while.
Nice poem. Well done
Thank goodness!! Great poem