Is it wrong,
That I feel more comfortable,
With a gun in my hands,
Then I do holding someone?
It's always been this way.
The cold steel feels familiar,
Like an extension of myself.
I seem to become more aware,
As I disassemble,
Clean, lubricate,
Reassemble,
Cycle the action,
Check the breach,
And experimentally pull the trigger.
I know who I am.
I'm a soldier.
Bred for war.
Love may never come to me.
I will **** so that others do not have to.
An M4 snug against my shoulder,
An M9 in a dropleg on my thigh,
My Ka-Bar on my belt.
My heart wrapped in bands of iron.
And I will go out the way I've lived,
With the pull of a trigger,
Flash of a muzzle,
And pooling of blood.
But I'll be ****** if
I don't take the ******* with me.