Wet Work © Sean G. O’Leary August 2023
Wet Work
Who cares to see the softer side
of jobs, whose definitions hide
the details and the methods used;
leave life and limb and soul abused.
How does one start in such career?
Who orders death, ensuring fair?
Who carries out the sentence vague?
Who protects us from The Hague?
Need to know and understand;
the watchwords of this no man's land.
Trust the order well researched;
our country anthem, not besmirched.
A patriot, by nature, I.
Inspired by a surgeon's eye.
Advanced in forces, hand-to-hand.
Deliver I, behind them stand.
Quiet, thoughtful, mind at peace.
You've not imagined such release.
Expired wait, incites the act;
committed quick, no turning back.
A blade, a gun, a push, a rope.
To see that moment, void of hope.
That certainty of death in eyes;
no chance resist nor look despised.
I guess they most do understand;
they resone with their reaper's hand.
Imagined guilt, atonement known,
their case for never going home.
But only once, an innocent,
betrayed no sin nor gave repent.
The genuine suprise of fate;
the pang of something left too late.
The flash of loved ones, wishing well;
thoughts of good, no one to tell;
thanks for grace; gave their best;
resigned then to deserved rest.
But rest does not deserve to me.
No reaper comes collecting fee.
Just sleepless nights in toss and turn;
in waking, living hell I burn.
No excuse, I've played my part.
No prayer relieves my tightened heart.
No deed seems set the balance straight.
No hope in hell to lift this weight.
© Sean G. O'Leary, August, 2023
