There is a ring on my left hand;
it is just as much a knife to my back
as a knife in my pocket as I walk down a dark alley.
It is the light at the end of a tunnel that is already lit
and the light by which we guide ourselves home by in the night.
It is the bullet that misses its innocent target
and the bullet that explodes in the hands of a person defending their home.
This ring, that glints in the night, and shields me...holds the answer and the questions.
Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 7:53 PM UTC
There is a ring on my left hand;
it is just as much a knife to my back
as a knife in my pocket as I walk down a dark alley.
It is the light at the end of a tunnel that is already lit
and the light by which we guide ourselves home by in the night.
It is the bullet that misses its innocent target
and the bullet that explodes in the hands of a person defending their home.
This ring, that glints in the night, and shields me...holds the answer and the questions.