Shots

(I’m back with the romanticization of military life series! This round it’ll be a short post because the experience was pretty bad with wet socks, soaked uniform and shooting without a scope; more posts to com when there is admin time again.)

It was one of the worst downpours I’ve seen,
Definitely one of the most drenched I’ve been;

I was firing rounds in the heavy rain,
Watching my shots penetrate figures twelve and fifteen

But
Thinking of the shots you took at me
Which penetrated my heart and every inch of me
As though
There are target boards on me everywhere;

My shots were off today but yours were all on target:
Oh what a shooter you are.

(I know the form of this scribble is pretty weird, but it is intended to reflect the confusion, agitation and pressure of the moment where the thought process is staggered, much like how a person chokes on tears. Shots in this post are both literal and metaphorical.)

Reverie, Memories

Standing in the middle of the square
Looking around at people everywhere
A million scenes flash before his eyes
Trying not to think of all those dreadful lies;

His dad told him to write a poem with a rhyme
Like how he thought writing without one was a crime
But all that doesn’t mean much to him now
Standing there thinking nothing but why and how;

He remembers the times she waited for him by the shop
Looking at the spot now he almost sees her in her spaghetti top
But all that is nothing more than just a distant pain
Standing there alone staring at the same spot in the rain;

The poem has long expired from the first word on
The fact of the matter is nothing more than ‘now she’s gone’
Yet lost deep in his memories he sees her again
And off he runs after her not knowing it is all in vain;

Reverie, memories.