The First Air Raid On Baghdad
The people seem calm, yet tension is everywhere.
We know it is the intention
Of the Americans to attack today.
War has been declared, it is coming our way.
The night has just started when the sirens wail.
Baghdad is assailed
With missiles setting the city on fire.
A show of might. A show of American ire.
Missiles coming wave after wave.
The tracer bullets cannot save
The city from destruction.
Buildings centuries in construction
Are engulfed in flames, soon to be a tangled mess
Of rubble, and smoldering nothingness.
The missiles make the city glow
With the flashes and bangs of a fireworks show.
A show, of a magnitude never seen before
Not in any country, or far distant shore.
Flames of orange, yellow, and red
Light buildings, kindling dread.
Explosions of fire and light
Bright as the Sun, make daylight out of night.
Smoke, rising high in the sky
Black, grey and white, so pleasing to the eye.
Oh! What a spectacular night in Baghdad.
Except, it is so bad.
There is no dawn
The fires of the night mingle with the morn.
Night and day is a smoke filled zone
Hovering over the city’s destruction
.
The light of fires had turned night into day,
Now the blackness of the smoke chases the sun away.
Slowly Baghdad stirs, for we work by the clock.
Our eyes fill with sorrow, as we see our city in shock.
Our tears have anger too,
But what can we do?
Our only hope is that this war should end quickly
With little bloodshed or brutality
So we can live in peace
When the fighting has ceased.
Copyright © Patrick Maitland | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment