Reginald Walker

Rookie - 3 Points (July 9,1964 / Marion, Alabama)

(updated) The U. S. Army Ranger, A Poetic Series, On The Verge Of War 8 - Poem by Reginald Walker

Book Two: On the verge of war

(This is a fictional poetic series and short story about events that never take place and about people that have never existed. Any representation of an actual event or person is purely coincidental in nature.)

Mission Eight: Who will come and rescue me?

The next order given was to secure the supply route.
The city of Shad Port was now completely secure.
Three Ranger units guarded the trucks that went out.
They checked every truck before it came back through.

I was selected to participate in a nighttime operation.
Operation Night Stalker was stamped on the folder.
I was given everything to accomplish my mission.
I walk outside with my sniper rifle on my shoulder

I work under very hazardous conditions.
I cross over the Amanastan mountainside.
I am a weapon with deadly implications.
From an U. S. Army Ranger, you can not hide.

I engaged the enemy twice the first night.
The first enemy, I quickly stabbed to death
I continued on my mission under the moonlight.
The other, I threw him over the side of a cliff.

For three days, I journeyed to my assignment.
I must kill the same dictator I shot years before.
From the hillside a bullet in his head, I had sent.
The doctor had saved him as he bleeds on the floor.

This time I will not make the same mistake.
The dictator should not be hard to find.
I swim across a cold clear mountain lake.
I will kill him with a bullet right into the mind.

I carefully come to the Hinds Palace ground.
This time, I will sneak inside the main house
There are thirty armed militants walking around.
To get by them, I must be quiet as a church mouse.

I slowly open the basement window.
Carefully, I check to see who is inside.
There was one thing that I did not know.
The window was next to the dictator’s bedside.

I quietly slide from the window to the floor.
The dictator’s wife had just gotten into the bed.
Ten guards quickly bust through the door.
She loudly burst a Ming vase over my head.

I am caught with nowhere to run.
Read the next series so you can see
If I will be killed by this dictator’s gun,
Or will someone come and rescue me.

(Copyright 2007)


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, September 30, 2007

Poem Edited: Tuesday, April 12, 2011


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