A Letter from Iraq
It is winter and it is dark
Yet the heat sickens us.
The stench of sweat sits like fog
and suffocates the senses.
None of us sleep,
one eye always open
afraid our legacy will be lost.
We are children back to back,
weeping silent into the night.
We imagine our wives as they gently kiss our children.
My memory is all I have and without it,
my heart would freeze in this blizzard of bullet and blood.
It is the reason I’m afraid, but it is the reason I am brave.
This war is not mine.
The end of the world as we know it
creeps like mist,
it will swallow us.
I wrote this in high school and it could do with some changes.
