Attack Poem by Thomas Ware

Let the bullets fly,
Let our enemies die,
Let the ones who killed,
Let their families cry.

A man draws near;
Look down the sight;
See the others run in fright.

Blood and gore are all around,
And yet somehow someone has found,
A bursting glee that has no equal,
No greater joy than bringing pain to others.

Silent deadly retribution,
For this is the great solution,
To the secret dark that dwells inside man's heart.
A final charge,
A last stampede.
This fear, it only heightens senses,
For when the foes, they stand defenseless,
Against the guns and swords and bows of righteous, deadly rage.

Choose your weapon;
Either way,
This will be a happy day,
For nothing beats the rush of having foes that flee before you.
It's the thrill of the hunt,
The joy of the chase,
The crunch of the bone under a mace.

Maybe you will feel remorse;
Maybe you will ride your horse,
Another day,
And either way,
This will be a happy day.

To ride down foes,
And hear the crunch,
Of blood and bones,
Is sickening,
But perversely,
It gives a man euphoric glee.