Standing in the grey of predawn,
silently he hunts like a hawk.
His scope sharpened eyes,
left to right then back left he sweeps.

Constantly on the prowl,
looking for his game.
Well camouflaged,
moving an inch at a time,
hidden even in plain sight.

Spending days all alone,
many of those days without sleep.
Always stalking, lurking in the shadows.
Seeking shelter where there is none,
in hostile environments he roams.

Quick as a cat,
deadlier than a snake,
this lions roar is never heard.

Where he will strike next, who knows.
Maybe downtown Baghdad.
He didn't come to hunt deer or elk.
All the targets in his crosshairs,
have faces and names.

03/27/2003

Posted on 04/03/2003
Copyright © 2024 Adrian Calhoun