War

War

I’m young but I have seen far too much

The bloodshed and suicide bombings and guns

And the weeping mothers

Mourning the loss of their sons.

I don’t have a lot, just my personal hell to bear

Tending to the soldiers with missing limbs and fingers

I remember my man lost in the war

We had two hours before duty called and yet, his touch still lingers

People divided by religion, and politics

It makes me hate it here, it’s just so sad

I haven’t been home in months

I miss Cookie, I miss dear old mum and dad

Sometimes I wish I weren’t an army doctor

That I could quit and start over

But if we all turn away, who stays to face mass murder

I pray it ends as I hold on to his dog tag like it’s my lucky clover.

(PS: I tried very hard to not talk about Jihad and religion – both of which I feel very strongly about – and then my post turned into a headless chicken hunt. I’m so sorry but war poetry is freaking hard to do.)