His finger hovered over the trigger...

aimed at a woman willing to take her life for her country.

Aimed at the Enemy, the terrorist threatening his country,

aimed at a boy not old enough to drink but old enough to die in combat.

Aimed at a country threatening to bomb his,

aimed at an innocent man, whose finger trembles over the trigger.

Aimed at the stubborn foreign nation who won't submit,

aimed at civilians who have no part in it.

The sickening smell of the dead and burning human flesh

are all that he smells.

The deafening roar of jets and missiles and grenades

are all that he hears.

The rotten bodies of the dead and the shattered villages that were once safe

are all that he sees.

The smoke, the grime, and the sticky air so thick with screams of innocent people

are all that he tastes.

Pulling triggers, sending bullets, creating chaos.

Dropping bombs, destroying cities, taking lives.

Of which is accomplished during war, neither contributes to ending it.

So what's the point?

Even the soldier behind the trigger couldn't tell you.