The Waiting

September 8, 2011
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The sights are dark and metallic,

As I look down them I can see,

My target staring, waiting,

He waits because he knows,

He knows that death is near.

I can discern the fear on his face,

From the sweat dripping,

And the widened eyes,

His eyes so brown and large,

The eyes of a human just waiting,

Waiting for the sound to end,

To end the pathetic existence.

But why must he end?

His only intention was loyalty,

He was loyal to his country,

In the defense of what he believed.

Now we come and take that,

We take that from him,

We take it from his life,

We say that it is just,

But what is so just about murder?

This isn’t what war is,

At least not from what I’ve seen,

The pictures that have come,

They put into my mind an idea,

An idea that war is okay.

What is so okay about this?

The death of another man,

Caused by my hand.

Is it really okay for me to pull,

And seal the fate of another.

Who am I to decide what happens?

He may have been an enemy to my people,

But to his, he’s a hero,

In the end the man is just another soul,

Another soul to add to the count.

This man sitting before me,

He is just suffering loyalty,

His lot has been cast,

He will endure the doom of choosing,

Choosing to be loyal to what he believed,

Now I must do the same,

And suffer the fate of the waiting.

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