Sniper

Looking afar, seeing what can't be seen.
Naked eye, is a scope with feelings.
You can see so much from that scope.
But if you put down the scope,
You then realized how much more
all around you, that you don't see.

Lock on, dead, on the target.
Efficiency! Tip of the spear—
One shot, one kill;
The enemy of the infantry,
The nature of assassination,
The need for minimum casualty,
Of course—
but in whose expense?

World Peace, what takes price.
Freedom, a tool for that purpose.
Would it be enough? Or too much?

Guns, like all things, weapons.
When they were used;
A rifle doesn't feel,
nor does the piercing full metal jacket,
through walls, windows,and the target.
The shooter, however, does.

Cold blooded killing?
Psst! A state of mind—the first victim
of every murder is the killer.
Always calm, mechanical, in control.
Breathe even breath—
Inner peace, external wounds,
inner wounds, painless...
Your soul dies, the grim reaper.
Takes form.

Disappeared, gone was the scythe
when you put down the scope.
And you noticed how beautiful
was the rifle, which was your soul,
when the sun shined on it.
The mountains at the distance
were speaking to you, but you knew
it would take ten thousand years
for them to finish a sentence.

The flowers at your feet were smiling—
Even though you had just stepped on them.
When you smiled back, your smile mirror theirs,
Beaming, radiant, forever—
When you had finally put down the scope.
When we all have finally put down the scope.