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I have travelled all through the brush
and have not found you.
I am lying at the end of the brush
On a dusty path that leads to your encampment.
I am sweating, it is midday and my water bottle is empty.
I am tense without water, food or backup
but you must believe that I am dangerous.
What do you think of me?
I am camouflaged like the desert.
I am crafty with my rifle
like the army behind me.
I crawl through the tall grass
like a guardsman hiding for cover.
I lie, I roll, I hide. I am a ranger.
I tense my shoulder. I shoot my markerlight.
Do you like my shot?
When the moon shines hard and cold on the enemy
I kill, I am the hunter of the greater good.
In the ruins, over the plains
and near the encampments, I sleep.
I tend my weapon through the night.
Tomorrow will be the day.
It is said I am a good match for a marine
I aim my carbine, tense my index finger
and pull. He is my reward, for the nights of sneaking.
I have a belt of grenades, and I use them.
My ammo is endless - do you like me
When I shoot at you and
kill your comrades, and I am laughing?
I am not laughing
or frowning, only
doing as ordered
showing you that we are not to be reckoned with.
I am waiting
for the sound gun shot,
for the marching to seize
for the leaping sinews to go slack,
for the battle to the death to be fought,
for a glazing eye and that last breath.
I am crouching in my dry shadows
till the battle is won.
My place is to mark your position
and leave your corpse in the heat.