A Sniper’s Tale by Captain Gravseth

My belly presses the dirt
Prone, I am still
As sand covers me head to toe.
Desolate barren road,
Tiny grains swirling are blinding.
Still my scope searches for my foe.
A white pick up truck
A man scrambles to set his trap.
Right on time, just as I was told.
His eyes appear over a scarf.
A father perhaps, definitely one’s son
To me he has no soul.
One last breath of life,
He jerks violently around
And left in an awkward fold.
The convoy follows
By taking one life
I have a hundred to show.

© Captain A. J. Gravseth 2005

Close Window