Bullets have no best before date.
Nor do bombs or landmines.
Things that kill, maim, or mutilate,
Seem to get a pass from time.
But your milk will curdle,
And your bread grow mould,
Veggies become fertile,
Candy hard, chocolate old.
Maybe bullets should go bad.
Perhaps last an hour.
Before turning weak and sad,
And losing all their power.
Instead what gives life,
Is at best fleeting,
Whilst things that take life,
Prove to be time-beating.
Very sad and very, very true. I know that there are still active shells in previously war stricken parts of the world, like Vietnam.