A Lesson I Did Not Have to Learn

There is no feeling
When you stand
Within the cross hair.
In a distant 
Dark place
A killer measures
His breath
Preparing to take
Yours.

All your yesterdays 
Are of no consequence.
All your tomorrows
Are unimportant.
The only weight of time
Is that which it takes
For his bullet
To close upon your
Chest.

The sound of the report
Will arrive
After the projectile
Takes your life
And before your body
Falls to the ground.

But you will feel
Nothing.
From the cross hairs
To the kill
You feel
Nothing.