Spellbound

As I watch Baghdad, my very eyes are scarred battleground,
There is crimson dew in the desert climate that holds me spell-bound,
In print, the danger of our enemies match all fantastic stories,
Somehow in justice and truth, our democratic goals seem wellfound.

Looking about me, I cling to the President’s wave like a lucky charm,
In the days to come, we will continue to sound that alarm,
At the local Reserve, I notice rows of yellow ribbons,
for the fight which will bury some and cause other unquestionable harm.

We turn to our young true soldiers whose talents must amaze,
We ask not of ourselves but lead into God’s great praise,
the Middle East is such a holyland in its very nature,
The outcome of their fate will be counted in numbered days.

We now take the lead for the other side to follow our warfare,
We must begin to be sure that we are mainly self-aware
With the gorgeous palaces taken, the people under guard,
What more than tanks and bombs will measure safe fanfare?