Black Uniforms

-Black Uniforms-
by
Keaton Foster



Black uniforms
Men of death
Standing tall
Always ready
Kill or be killed
Weapons slung low
Magazines full
Safety’s off
Itching to pull
Eager to murder
Only if and when
The orders come
The definition of murder
Is loosely spelled out
They do not live by
Any God’s word
They only live by
The rules of engagement
All that is required
All that they need
Is an unwilling target
Someone down range
Unaware that their life
Is about to be blown to bits
Not necessarily a combatant
Not necessarily an enemy
For them the line is blurred
None are innocent
Within the theater of war
Their black uniforms
Are lacking an insignia
They are loyal to nothing
Except death
They don’t hate each other
They only hate everyone else
Within such a target rich environment
Callus’s form on their trigger finger
Often requiring them to take a break
Some downtime living
Instead of repeatedly killing
Hypocrisy and then some
Fear not
For within a moment’s notice
They can be ready
The duality of who they are
And what they do
Does not come into play
They are killers in every way
True and right
As far as they are concerned
Means absolutely nothing
Within their weapon’s sight
Is all that they concern themselves with
Once the target is dispatched
Once death is delivered with a crack
They move on, never to look back
Their black uniforms show no stain
Their hearts confess nothing of their ways
For men like them
It’s all about kill or be killed…



Black Uniforms
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012.