A bullet's life

Is a straight trajectory,

From the factory floor,

To piled high boxes

In shipping containers,

Running from first world profits

To third world markets,

Through gilded palms and forgeries.

Locked and loaded

Into the AK-47

Of a Somalian child soldier.

Shot at supersonic speeds,

The end of its journey

Finishes the life of another.

The winding way

Of peaceful words,

Is a path

Much less trodden.

Easily lost among

The overgrowth

Of realpolitik and economics.

Despite being connected

Like never before,

The syllables of love

Enunciated by helpless children,

Don't always reach adult ears.

If we welcome their arrival,

It will be a new beginning.