On a dangerous mission,
Reconnaissance in Outer Heaven.
Snake's boots hit the barely dry cement,
Silencer equipped, the metal has a slight dent.
A weaponised hangar,
Containing lots of danger.
Soldiers and cardboard boxes,
Here comes an agent of Fox's.
Where is the Metal Gear prototype?
Taking out enemy combatants in the dead of night.
- Author: Shaunmatthewcpoetry ( Offline)
- Published: June 5th, 2024 11:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.