Through brittle teeth, with shattered bones under Iraqi skies,
She sings the sepulcher songs, longing for home, under Iraqi skies.
Dark and dank, with gaping eyes the charred flesh moans,
Longing for the distant shore of home, under Iraqi skies.
She longs to sleep, to dream, and to sing no more.
In the dark of oil-stained nights, alone under Iraqi skies.
Sitting fast, his mind a hellish tomb, he thinks of deserts;
Years of torture, observed and unknown, under Iraqi skies.
She remembers writhing, the pain, swathed in argent salves.
The burning cold, her longing for the warmth of home, under Iraqi skies.
He thinks of deserts, and the man he once knew.
He tries to dream; haunted by the days he roamed, under Iraqi skies.
The Veteran longs to sleep, to dream, to sing no more,
For his sins, he hopes to be able to atone, under Iraqi skies.
YOU ARE READING
Pyrrhic Victory
PoetryThe body of this collection of work is derived from the experiences of my life and the lives of other's that have been effected directly or indirectly by the social conditions of the early twenty-first century in the US, and by extension much of the...
