Bullets Path

by Michaelw1two Sunsets glow here in Al-Iraq, it casts an orange beige; fiery though its blister stare, the horizon is still a dusty greige; visual spectres shun its light, twilight’s shield released its guige; haunt these streets my squad and I, my sense perceives vestige. History’s constantly revisited, through the cobwebs of my mind; pathway trod by all humanity, birth and death of man entwined; humankind’s vistas temerariously adrift, fate is intertwined; plight creeps into my sensing thought, awakes subconscious winds. Night’s prayer sounds, the cry is heard, drifting from lone minaret; caution bleeds its honing sense, we each drop glowing cigarettes; masks filled of almond eyes peek, heads turn to our receiving set; desperation seeps, the mullah shrieks, Allah Akbar, prayers duet. Prayer beads, worn hands, hot streets are lined with pious souls; demands as such five times each day, man’s religion on patrol; unconscious, the kneeling mass, into the square a shadow strolls; thoughts delve into my mind, danger, alert, my breath extols. By din of voice the streets release, men humbly prayer call part; life here slowly turns, bodies duck, my heart fades then it starts; death wakens itself quick, specific no doubt just read Descartes’; exists last hint of bullets path, my face is gone my soul departs. Jan 2010