It’s funny, you see
my grandma happily, delightedly,
showed me her ring today.
“It’s made from a bullet,” she said.
It’s made from a
BULLET.
Guns and wounds worn on the sweet finger
Of an innocent woman looking for
Diamonds
Beauty
WAR.
Death surrounding a small jewel,
Concealing the rips and tears and
heart
breaks
Of the DEAD.
Nothing is free in this world, we hear
Not even DEATH sold in the shape of
A circle.
The diamond glistens in the shining light,
Burns in the raging sun,
SCREAMS
At the ones who’ve held it once before,
TERRIFYING, DEATHLY, beautiful.