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Array
(
[sid] => 2507
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => SNIPER
[time] => 2002-08-20 19:35:46
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => A rocket flashes in front of me.
I feel it’s blast behind. I taste the blood of someone else, Who had been close by my side. The smell of burning flesh disgusts, My sickened stomach more. I’m fighting for my country, Right? But it’s not even called a war. My target moves in front of me. Then suddenly a flare. My face goes quickly in the mud. I’m covered foot to hair. The perimeter was dogged and manned. I slowly lift my eyes. I see through wire razor sharp, Then once again my prize. The front site of my weapon raised, With slow and gentle ease. The cross hairs focused and aligned, I feel my finger squeeze. A colonel and black marketeer, Grabbed his throat and hit the ground. But way before he ever did, I had already spun around. A maddening dash across a field. A hundred yards of mines. A zig zag pacing of two legs, Still numb from dragging vines. I feel the closeness of the rounds As they nip my ears and feet. I see the tracer skip close by, As I dive into a creek. Just beyond a path between A thickened jungle brush. I hoped to be extracted, But my legs too cramped to rush. I hear the rotors swishing. The ladder hangs in air. I run into a clearing, And jump for the ladder there. I hear the muffled sounds of blasts, As we rise into the air. A machine gun fires toward the ground. A snipers answered prayer. Now, just before I slice the throat, And take off my enemy’s hair, I wake up from that dream and yell! It’s a sniper’s life’s nightmare. robertburns2@mac.com homepage.mac.com/robertburns2/… [comments] => 1 [counter] => 149 [topic] => 31 [informant] => Robert_Edgar_Burns [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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