Poetry / The Beaches of Iraq

Lightning flashes, thunder screams,
drawing me from the comfort of my childish dreams.

Sand blows black, like a thick, heavy veil,
Smothering every memory and trail.

The days so hot they burn right through,
the soles of your boots become little more than goo.

Nights so cold you feel as if you’ll never warm,
gathered for warmth inside your bag like bed spiders swarm.

The wind blows constantly but no chill do you ever feel,
you begin to question your sanity and what is and isn’t real.

Blackhawks roar across the sky stirring a new tempest,
M1’s push though the barren sands unable to resist.

Water is scarce your lips no longer bleed,
your throat burns with undying need.

Hunger your constant companion,
to these people you are no champion.

They want you to leave, they beg you to go,
the atrocities CNN will never really show.

Children armed with m16’s fighting for what they believe,
we defend a way of life we could never possibly conceive.

The sun sets on another day, some count their blessings, others simply cry,
you settle down to write your loved ones, for tomorrow you may die.

Nothing will you scribe tonight, the ink dries in your trembling hand,
your head falls to your chest defeated, all because of this accursed sand.

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