It’s the mirror you don’t look into,

the one without the morals,

emotions, doubts and fears.

–

How much wisdom do you gain

in confronting your older self,

tailing it thru a city of statues

and bridges, fighting with it

in the catacombs amidst

an audience of smiling skulls?

–

You have trained to be the good soldier,

one that doesn’t doubt the orders given,

tuned your mind to see the world

as targets and you as the weapon,

–

happiest when flat on your belly

and ready to pull the trigger,

letting the bullet be the arbiter

that makes sense of the world,

knowing at your martial core

your country deserves

the perfect version of you.

–

You don’t close your eyes

as you watch the bullet’s flight,

follow the darkness you must walk thru,

knowing sleep is where the ghosts are,

and the blink where the pain resides.

–

You think of your father

and his raised hands,

how your creator

tries to kill you

when you turn

and develop a conscious.

–

You don’t doubt

you are better than that.

“I love you son.

Don’t let yourself down,”

you imagine the bullet howling.

Or is it the far away man

in your gun sight?

–

You see yourself dying

to be in a relationship,

a husband, father,

all the things he got

and you will never get to be.

–

As the bullet nears its target,

all those things knock you

back in the gun’s recoil and

you know that he deserves to die.

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