Bullet

He fell the bullet killing him before hitting the ground,

He fell with a slight moan that was the only sound.

He never knew he was dead as his body smacked down,

His body would be retrieved when he was found.

Who killed him was unknown, age and race a mystery of sorts,

They would not be found and judged through the courts,

Motivation of his death was also non plus,

A person killed by another who never knew him, no fuss.

Whether he was a father, brother or son,

Now he was a dead body, his life undone.

No future for him, just a pine box with a lid,

He was so young, describe him as your regular kid.

The bullet was manufactured in a factory with no thought,

They did not care who purchased the gun and bullet bought.

Just an empty void now, the end of a life,

No more worries now, just the consequences of the strife.

His name does not matter, nor does his race, or ethnic background,

Shortly his body would be interned and placed under the six feet of ground.

The why is a variety of causes, thoughts and unrest?

He is gone now, his future would have been bright for he was one of the best.

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