Bullet will go down the barrel,
All to make the target sterile.
Sick of the warchief scenario.
Sound will reverb in stereo.
Traitors stand all around,
Each one will soon be on the ground.
Laid flat upon the dirt and stones.
One day they will be just bones.
Names lost to the drifting fog,
It tastes more like filth and smog.
First the trigger must be squeezed,
Then suffering can be eased.
Plots are for children.
Plans are for everyone.
Intention will bring this in.
Awareness of absolutely nothing.
Finally the time is here.
Dispel all the gnawing fear.
Recoil from the kick,
End might be a tad too quick.
Pink mist in the air,
All those around do stare.
Panic replaces bluster,
It’s all the others can muster.
Blink and it’s gone.
Other targets are done.
Disorder with the wolves,
None of us are fools.
We collapse and depart,
This is only the spark.
Peace will prosper over war.
We couldn’t stand it anymore.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 