I see my target,
Surrounded by craters and husks of society,
Caked in mud and gory detritus,
He must have fought for hours,
Days even,
No matter,
A sniper feels no mercy,
I align my reticule,
Let’s take a look at this prey,
I’ve prowled his unit all week,
Drenched and weary,
Not much longer,
I wonder if he misses home,
His mother must miss him,
His father must be crestfallen,
Their son was conscripted,
But soon to be sent home,
In a bag of his own,
He’s a young man,
Surely a beau of his village,
Glint of a wedding ring,
She must be beautiful,
Wonder if they have children,
He’s not coming home little ones,
He glances fearfully about,
The lightning bolt before the trigger,
Time to earn my pay,
I breathe in,
And smirk,
For him the war is over.
WorldofHarley 