Sunburst

The old abandoned
warehouse turns to a
cathedral of images
as the sun bursts thru
the window, poising
in a half dream.

A samurai-like warrior,
made of sunbeams,
is out of time with the world,
like the broken hands
of a clock.

The graffiti up on the
wall, tells it like it is, and
seems to deny the winter
and war-torn floor, one
last effort to pull itself
together again.


For PROMPT #107 at Read Write Poem, we were asked to create a poem based on the following image.

Confined

Caught within the confines of camp,
the dried mud I crunch beneath my boots.
I impose imprisonment upon myself.

December in Afghanistan: I am surrounded
by T-Walls and hescos, surrounded by mountains.

Slow drops of rain, from gray blanket clouds,
dot the dry dust with leopard spots;
then more rain and freezing temperature.

Soldiers with black arms strapped against their
backs, pass me by.

I find a secluded place with cold wind
against my face, and the cold wet earth
invades my soul.



For Prompt #106 at Read Write Poem.