.:This is Never Fun:.

 “Trust Me, I said, I know I’m going to be home right directly”
That was the last thing I said before the call dropped.
Right then my heart stopped. It was that Bang; that Boom…and
I’m again weak at the knees. I’m yelling to myself one more week
Oh God…Please I’m again inside another moment of not knowing. Exactly
Guess it’s what kept me from getting done in
That’d surely be a sin Oh God...this is more of this shit we're in.
This is never ever fun. As I’m now running through goat dung
One foot churning in front of the other..
Both my feet are here and that was something good
Felt like I had swam, then ran; running
Right through swarms of busy bees, worker ants
And I kept running, I ran right past..
Right through those prickly pickpockets of peace
Along the way running I saw my own vivid imagination
To stop wasn’t a thing envisioned

Because I was, could be, most assuredly…I was & am the mission

What I felt then grew; growing as large as that change
That revolution; the one taking place all around me
I still can’t see; how did we even get here?
Why couldn’t we all have left earlier? Much sooner?
My lack of real understanding had me gripped up
All this shit around me... The rumors of hidden beauty escaping me
It was just too hard to breathe; these attempts to hem me in
Hell…I didn’t belong. Didn’t know that; not as well as I should

That I was and could be; most assuredly…I am the mission

But for sure I knew right then this shit wasn’t any good
Still moving; but at the same time still stuck. Mucked.
Like this air…this grit filled air; the dust of shrapnel
Floating, sitting in these bullet riddled hallways
These funny always-suspicious looking doorways
The windows without panes framing faces of pain
Looking for an opening to shut & close death
Seldom seen are those hands under those dark colored burkas
Hands squeezing prayer beads and small fingers
Rarely are there any waving hands for my invitation

I am & was the mission; some saying part of an invasion

But these hands; they’re cloaked in distain
Fearful of everything...Everything except the small hands
hands that squeeze tightly to their mothers.
Why were we all here? Why am I still here?
Living separated by our views and culture differences
Posturing and diametrically opposed to each other
But I’m still on my mission...and occasionally

I am and probably always will be the mission

Closed in on all sides...and
It’s the only thing that I surely get.
While knowing in this moment why I’m still rushing out.
Rushing out one more time. Wanting to be like that super hero with my team
On someone else’s mission living a dream; our shared nightmare
Briefly wondering who really belongs in this affair.
But, right about now…a hidden IED, it don’t really care
So I’m once again swooping down; going in for that rescue...for closure
And after it’s all over going home...going home for that closure
This as I respond to a small child’s hand...waving
With my own hand...and my rifle’s point of view…both now...gone


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