Over There

"Only the dead have seen the end of war." -Plato

On the windswept streets of war torn cities,
Choked by the sands of an unforgiving desert,
Where ancient kings once ruled,
But now are blinded by pitch black
Plumes of smoke
From oil fires,
Rising from the distant border
To flood the sky’s expanse
With death
And a stern reminder
That home is not soon coming…

And where the heat is unbearable,
Always unbearable,
Rising in a watery haze
From the lifeless landscape,
Strewn with the dismembered skeletons
Of fallen war machines and
Wayward donkeys.

It is there that weakness is discovered,
Crouched in the mud brick alleyways
Of an ambush,
Where humbled warriors weep,
Shielding their eyes from rotor wash,
As the thunderous, iron birds attempt,
Desperately attempt,
To save them from shattered rooftops and streets
Soaked with heroes’ blood