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by Nevada Kerr

A nut out on a limb
Walks a ragged fringe
The gunner back from combat
Escapes the loony bin

Through his lens a form appears
The anemic blush that blooms in fear
A flush of feeling, an unfeeling air
The bolder coward's gloating stare

Fallow citizens mount guard
But precious time is running out
The shooter has the vantage
Holed up in hell no doubt

Flying bullets explode
The sealed contents within
Blood spills in the snow
Over shattered bone and skin

Cocky grin, creeping pace
Maim some; kill a few
Camouflage, poker face
The perfect field of view

The upper hand of Death
Whose pointing finger aims
Pulls the trigger with bated breath
And takes snapshots of the remains

Written by © Nevada Kerr
February 28, 2004.

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Created: February 2004 © Paul Kinder Last Updated: 7/2/04