An Ode To Shooters (Short Poem)

Guns, guts, glory and gore,
When gripping the trigger, I’m craving more,
Lining up my shots and firing away,
Making sure you won’t see another day.

Stalking the prey and counting my shells,
Grabbing ammo so all is well,
Stacking on armor to prevent expiration,
Cooking grenades for your brains evacuation.

Rounding each corner with reckless abandon,
Hoping to rapid fire shots from my cannon,
Itching to see the dye in your eyes,
Screaming to hear your blood-curdling cries.

Spinning turrets to cause you blight,
Piloting vehicles to any height,
Sprinting faster to chase you around,
Curb stomp you until you’re down.

Blood flows down like a river,
Reminding me of how you shivered,
Turn my head to walk away,
Bullet collides and ends my day.

The cycle repeats for what seems like hours,
Lives lost and new blood cowers,
Shooters provide such visceral thrills,
To this day, I still get chills.

Endless arsenals full of ridiculous gear,
Games dedicated to eliciting pure fear,
Gory romps through hell and space,
Tension making your heart race.

Plotted tactics in a realistic style,
Or mindless killing to drive you wild,
The range of titles is limitless,
But they all fill me with pure bliss.

I’ll never tire of the fights,
Popping off rounds and setting foes alight,
Masterful killing is what I can do,
But certain death is not good enough for you.

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