Author's note: Hey! It's been so long since I've last updated. Unfortunately, I think I might have to take a hiatus on the Elementals. Anyway, I think I'm going to be writing more poems. Forgive the crappiness of it. It's a spur of the moment thing and "Man with a Machine Gun" is the first thing I thought of when I opened my laptop. Its no reference to Laguna from FFVIII for those Final Fantasy fans out there... Machine Gun is just a metaphor I used to relate to something violent and intimidating for more dramatic purposes. Well, yehey:)

Man With a Machine Gun

Man with a machine gun

tall, upright and strong.

He'd surely study everyone

as they pass him right along.

Man with a machine gun

so steadfast and unmoving.

He guards his gates so faithfully,

his firmness is unnerving.

Yet somehow behind those hollow eyes

that continue to stare straight ahead,

is a calming light and gentleness

that is often left unread.

This man with a machine gun

so long has been standing there.

He guards his gates that never open.

What that was, no one asks. No one would dare.

Some people just pass him by

while others take a second look.

I, myself, do confess

I've glanced more than I should.

Oh, man with the machine gun

what fear you strike to men.

Your most magnificent of arms

has feared them all of death.

Has no one ever come so close?

Does your gun take them aback?

What really does lie beyond those gates?

Why dont you show the emotions you seem to lack?

I, admit, I probably should not have asked

but it was so compelling to find out.

I wanted to know the reason

and what the machine gun was all about.

I then spent my days to visit him

the man with the intimidating stance.

Although when you looked at him

there was laughter in his glance.

Stories and tales then flowed from my lips

as I tried to get him to open

but he continued to stare straight ahead

yet I still continued. Hoping.

The man with the machine gun took no noticed it seemed,

he still held his arms all day.

I could only wish he was listening

as I told him my stories when I stayed.

Months have gone by and I've finally stopped.

All hope seems to have died.

I now watch him from my window.

He would not put down his guard. Believe me now, I've tried.

Dear Man with the Machine Gun,

why do you not wish to leave?

Will you never open up those gates?

For anyone? For me?

I had hoped that I was getting there.

His stare diverted on some days.

Sometimes I could feel him watching me

I could feel his warm, unmoving gaze.

But he never moved, not even twitched.

Sometimes he stood his guard all the more.

He was decided on not letting anyone in.

And knowing that just made me sore.

Then, I realized

what must be going through is mind.

There must be something beyond those gates

so important to disclose from behind.

Oh Man with the Machine Gun

what pain lies beyond?

What forces you to take up your arms

and to let yourself be shunned?

Dearest Man with the Machine Gun,

who never leaves his gates

there must be some miraculous way

for him to let me in... someday...