…I just go where I’m told and do what I was made to do.
from Lisa Carver song, “Bullet”
Ballistics is our bible:
how we rain upon your side and theirs,
your young fighters and theirs
with sweethearts at home and babies in cribs.
We serve the will of warring gods, our lot
to fly without judgment where we’re sent.
Whether flesh or steel, brains or glass,
we shall not discriminate.
From your side and theirs arise
the same cries of pain and sorrow.
We have no means to evaluate, no meter
to measure misery, right and wrong.
Foresightful, our gods of war,
excluding mercy from our register:
our mission is everything,
not feelings for those in our flight paths—
nor are we equipped to ask
why we’re made to shatter, not endure,
why we’re given no grander purpose
than break, bleed, and seed more strife.
Reason is but our trigger, equal access
our honor’s badge, love our sailing true.
Our life is too short for petty distinctions:
your side, their side—you all look the same.
