Still In The Desert

He Stands In Front Of The Mirror,
Looking For Any Image That Would Make Things Clearer,
Beads Of Sweat Roll Down His Face,
He Feels Foreign In This Once Sweet Place,
For No Longer Does He Embrace The Presence Of His Home,
In This Place Does No Comfort Nor Familiarity Roam.

In The Mirror’s Screen,
All His Life Could Be Seen,
Not Through His Reflection,
But Instead Through His Clouded Conscious’ Complexion.

He Sees The Angel He Calls His Wife,
Whom He’s Pledged To Give His Life,
The Motto Of His Surrogate Rings True,
As She Remained Always Faithful, He Knew.
Thankful That He Wasn’t F*Cked From Home While Gone,
That He Wasn’t The Marine That Recieved A Dear John.

He Sees The Desert, Like A Vast Golden And Brown Rye,
Clogged With The Grease Of The Sky,
Where His Life Fractured And He Cried,
Where His Desires Lingered And Ethics Almost Died,
A Part Of Him Still Blows With The Sand,
Always Will, Not Letting Go Of His Hand.

Turning Away From The Mirror,
As The Monster Of Insanity Comes Nearer,
He Walks Toward The Window Hoping To Watch A Different Scene,
But Instead, Again He Sees The Gold Blanket And Machine Of Green,
There He Realizes That No Matter Where He’ll Be,
He’ll Always Be In The Desert And It’ll Be All He Can See.

Only In The Desert,
Did He Always Assume,
That His Life Could End At The Sound Of Every Hiss Or Boom.

Only In The Desert,
Did He Lose Control Of All His Sense,
And Like In The Movies Did Time So Tightly Tense.

Only In The Desert,
Did He Endure Such Pain,
And Slowly, Like A Madman, Did He Nearly Go Insane.

He’s Still In The Desert,
And All Those Jarheads There,
Killing, Dying, Getting Their Thousand Yard Stare,
Are Him,
And He Is Them,
We Are Still In The Desert….

Ethan Sanders

More Shayari in English Poetry
14 Jul 2008 No Comment

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