Sean Matthews | + Follow Poet |
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Convoy

Suit up to the tee,
to a convoy, I must go. 
Off to an important mission,
for us soldiers, to only know.

Equip with a vest,
and a helmet on my head.
Holding a loaded rifle,
to keep from becoming dead.

Then briefed about the quest,
information of the journey, and where it lies.
Hoping and praying that what was said,
to our families, wasn’t our last goodbyes.

Next entering into armored vehicles,
sitting in tight, with barely any room.
Recharging the handles on our weapons,
keeping watch for bombs, that go boom.

Then assigned to view in clock position,
at the windows beside our very seat.
Looking for suspicious items and people,
who purposely will give a harmful greet.

All vehicles then will align in a row,
varying in distance, and in position.
So the enemy can be puzzled by,
the convoy's constant road transition.

Different is the scenery, changed in every moment,
through the window, and from previous few.
Once in a while, seeing the actual testimony,
of the good work, we soldiers will do.

Especially the children along our path,
that wave to us as we pass by.
Can't help but feel the great satisfaction,
over where their loyalty has then lie.

Carefully we make it to the destination,
and came back in one whole piece.
But there is no definite guarantee, next time,
until all violence here has decease.

Copyright © Sean Matthews | Year Posted 2007

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