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Thoughts of a Poet in Iraq ©

John Bearcat-Redmond
Fife, Scotland
2004

I woke up one morning about three o'clock,
inside my heart was crying
I realised I was twenty five,
and I was slowly dying
There were many things inside my head
I felt I needed to say
How I hated this war and all this destruction
that was happening in it today
There was nothing much I could really do
was the thought inside my head
And the more I thought of what kind of life was left,
I looked forward to being dead
I gazed out through a window
to the left was a wood so green, full of birds
and they were singing happily.
Was there something I hadn't seen?
To the right were the concrete boxes
filled with violence, some with tears
Maybe some were filled with happiness,
something I hadn't felt for years
Do I look forward to the future
or do I think about the past
How do I capture that something special
and hope that it will last
Or do I just go back to sleep again
and give up really trying
Just close my eyes. Blank out my mind
and continue with my dying


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