It makes me consider the heart more 
sympathetically, this target on the chest
designed to make me condemn outright
the beating heart it reveals more than covers.

Who is this boy who could be anyone?
Ghostly in black and white
as if from a chapter now ash
but I've met with less in the mirror.

Shadows cresting night's hills
I take them to be the firing squad
too well trained to hesitate
already lining up tomorrow's job.

The old rumour circulates -a good world gone bad-
what idiot provides the reason?
My own heart led away -dark times like these-
to end a poem with a bang.