To the NRA

Think me silent; think me still
While you gather ’round the gun.
Tether yourselves to its barrel now,
Bow to this chosen one.
Though other nations have faced this god and
Wrestled from its mortal grip,
You run instead to its embrace
And cover your children with it.

See me now rise with a chosen few,
Their voices, my words, to shout.
Your vitriol, violence, and vengeful themes
They vow to live without.
They know the threats; they are not blind,
True power comes in great disguise.
Their courage to lay the sword down now—
He who lives by it shall die!

For herein lies the truth of this:
The reluctant hand is sound.
A last resort for a few to hold
When evil find its way ’round.
The work to keep the few so trained
Supported, grounded, true.
With focus here, wisdom stays near
And calamities are few.

Come, Christian, name your God! Oh see
We are not of equal power!
No weapon did my Son embrace
On that third morning’s hour.
Choose which power you will wield
For my patience is growing thin.
Let these my children stand alone
And I will route you from within!