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.