Part Nine

 

 

 

………..yet, the crying never stops,

Defiantly I wait to be the pax,

     But the hercy bird to freedom

Seems forgotten in the past,

     And with the twilight of every

Starlit night, the memories of

Kurdistan come flooding back,

A deluge down a tired track

Warms a path upon my face, and

With haste I take a chemical

Remedy and know the

Nightmares are inbound,

And a sleep of fitful dreams strips me

Till I’m dry,

                        And weak with fatigue -

I know, the love I gave

Iraq with all her battle scars

Was never shallow to the grave,

But done upon a conscience for

Every human life,

 

           And though each

Living casualty is silenced,

And silently ‘We’ walk the streets

Where glory begs its infamy

From those who’ll never know the

          Jest,

          I Beg The Killing Stops,

The joke; - the killing of the life that we create!

 

 

 

Michael J Waite