Grey area

How was he to know that someone who looked so much like him,
would not be an ally?
There are some enemies whose handshake has the grip of a trap;
The pull that can change your nature.

It rarely happens on the battlefield, where the lines are clear.
The barrel of a rifle galvanizes us to action; when the bullets fly, we do what we have to – cover or advance, and it’s work that’s none too pretty.
Our mind is set for the bruises & wounds, that we acquiesce to in the confirmation of what must be.

But deals are made in places unseen.
Grey areas, where uniforms are blurred; weapons put aside for the time being.
‘Dialogue’ is the watchword,
and must be in human terms.

But what if they’re not human?
Or so degenerate, their flesh covers a blue heart?
Your best will can be turned against you and all your good intentions made a mockery.

And it all begins when a membrane is breached.