If I could write a poem
And make every word count
So that when recited
It would make the room stop
Still
Dead
Hushed
Severe
With everyone inside left to ponder on their own lives,

And if I could write a line
That would assault the audience
With all of the dramatic flair
And seriousness born from unforgiving tenacity
As it is experienced at the sight of a grenade
In the hand of a charging madman
With its pin removed,

That would be the bomb, yo.