Positioned on the front lines—
primed for battle.
Gaze fixed forward
—focus
fierce.

Stifling, sinister air smothers
—suffocating
—eerie
—tense

Where are those who would come
against?
Who is it that dares defy
my defense?

Each one peering out,
on guard,
at the ready—
Eyes expanded,
Heads swiveling,
When shall the inevitable come?

One drops to my left!

Oh! How can it be!?
Everybody down!
Where’s the sniper?

Peek my eyes over the sandbags
—another down to my right!
Two men in a box and we just entered the night!
Must be the best sniper in…

As I fall on my haunches—
Something finally dawns—(not the sun)
I notice no holes in the clothes
they have on.

Catastrophe!
What kind of bullets does he use—
see through?
Ah, folly!

I swivel my gaze back around…
our head lookout shrieks and embraces the ground.

How can this be?
I mull as I fall flat—
beginning to feel like a silent attack!

As I lay wondering I discover—
something far more troubling—
my fellow person…

It is none other than
an ancient foe…

For truly—
the sniper is a viper.

The one from of old,
ever so bold
and crafty—
sly
slithering into
our ears
and
whiss-pering sweet serenades.

Our eyes ever search without—
But…
our enemy…
lies…
within…


© Daniel Schwamm, All Rights Reserved, 2015.


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