Maker of the Man

In my hand,
The steel grip.
Innocent.
But at any time,
So deadly.
Less then a second,
It’s an instrument of death.
I can play God.

My decision:
Good or Evil;
Sinner or Saint;
My way of life.
Decided with a small movement,
Of a single finger.

I have the power.
The chance.
The ability.
I am the Angel of Death.
I am a Marksman.