Gunshots puncture the morning
peace, silence always seems
stronger yet more hollow, afterwards
as the birds have flown to safety.

They are fired to practice
defence, so we are told.
It is amazing how killing
can be so benignly described.

Words like bullets get shot out
by all of us, from time to time.
Pinning permanence and label
on the targets they do hit.

Do we then speak to attack
or defend, or maybe both.
Either way, when we do,
we cannot hear the birds

as they flap their wings and flee,
knowing that danger is near,
vibrating loudly as the tanks
of cold intellect begin to roll in.

(Taken from Begin Again)