Arms raised high.
Fists tight, to the sky.
Head thrust back, teeth clenched.
The rain pouring down, overhead.
The lightening flashes, thunder crashes.
Tears washed away, by deluge and spray.
I am bruised and bleeding everywhere.
Eyes bloodshot, a fixed stare.
I shout out loud.
HELP I DIE.
No one listens to my cry.
Is this the end, of all my dreams?
Love and hope, finished it seems.
I was promised happiness, if I was good.
This promise has not stood.
The Devil has his way.
Pain, and death, have there sway.
I have been beaten, tortured and shot.
Humanity they had not.
The wrong place I came.
So was ready game.
In Baghdad, this is the way.
They treat you today.
Copyright © Norman Purvis