This blog post is hidden because you have chosen to ignore armyruts. Show Details
This blog post is hidden because you have submitted an abuse report against it. Show Details
I belong to the Iraqi crescent sky, a moon mystic dancing amongst the shadowy palms'
Feeling the abandonment where love makes no sense, searching for light through Baghdad's shaky calm.
Like so many forgotten soldiers, hovering on edge, battling inner conflicts, rattling seasoned bones--
Blaming someone for this crafty imbalance...for making truth hurt, yet making truth known.
Seemingly, a life-time chiseled away by Doldrums; we are not welcomed here, no honor reaped from this senseless act
But I am part of this place, clocking my punishment, suffering the consequence of misfortune--one I cannot correct.
It's my god who succumbs to the Muslims' crying pains of prayer; it's my time that feeds the rhythm and right to maim and kill,
I cry for lost heroes, lost lovers, lost ventures; still, I remain the invader, the infidel.
I mourn this War, yet I contribute to its energy--a soldier overwhelmed by purpose gone awry,
I realize now, I had to be here, to understand my being----for to find my place in life again, I had to die....