Once when I was as a hunter,
killing on plain and forest
High by an old toppled tree,
through my scope I did see,
an Bull Elk of exceeding size,
bellowing out his mating cries,
When a thought came into my ear,
hidden essences of yesteryear,
of learned expectations,
passed down from generations,
Saying, "When shooting hold your breath",
"Square your shoulders, and do your best,
Oh yes, I'd learned well, deserting not,
to shoot, kill, miss not a shot,
To hide away my inborn compassion,
and make killing a certain passion
So emotion shrunk, cruelty aged,
my slate of death became a page.
And when it was done, good or grim,
I had no fear of beast or men
Then as a sniper with military men,
thinking shooting others was not a sin,
Deep inside, dead, curdled within,
a passion came for killing men
Yes, I caught a demon, gasped at faith,
and found myself questioning,
Was I a beast, a man, or a pigeon,
this lonely man without religion?
So then I turned, left first base,
traded gun for camera in a case,
To know not to hate another,
to hide not behind your brother,
kill not animal or each other.