Movie Clips In My Head

Half a marathon later

and here comes flashbacks of war.

They are short movie clips

projected on the inside

of my skull.

A movie-theater kind of

experience. With no one

in a seat but me.

Why does this happen?

Here’s an answer.

My words are not

to be of harm

as my rifle once was,

yet of love which

fills the gas tank

in my heart.

By painting a beautiful

picture with words offers space.

To accept, and be proud

of the man I

was then and now.

Full of energy to sit

and paint with words

a story like this one.

-

I find myself sitting

in moon dust dirt,

with a pair of brown

leather boots to protect

my feet, a rifle

to protect my brothers,

and a rucksack filled

with mission essential gear.

A vest that carries

rifle magazines, my radio,

my medical kit,

and two bulletproof plates

to stop the enemy’s

bullet from penetrating

my vital organs,

like the heart and lungs.

Night vision goggles

provide the ability

to see in the dark.

Attached to the helmet,

made to stop bullets

from hitting my brain.

Turning the night vision goggles

off to take in

the bright stars above.

Restores my eyes from

the bright green light

which filled my eyes

these last few

hours of our patrol.

Searching for Taliban fighters

that were  shooting at us off and on

throughout the afternoon.

From the compound that me

and my teammates hold

security at now.

Under the lights of the stars and moon.

While two bomb doctors searched

for home-made bombs

those shit-heads left behind.

After a bomb exploded a few

hundred feet away scaring them away,

as a warning shot.

Correct, warning shot,

a tactic to force

the fighters to move out

of the building and

follow them to

another location.

With a drone in the sky undetected

providing a live-stream

of the battlefield below.

Sitting against my rucksack,

my eyes turned heavy

staring off into the dark sky.

The air warm with no breeze.

Leaves drips of sweat running

down my spine.

As my teammates

disappear into darkness.

-

As these words fill

the page, anger no longer bleeds

into movie clips as you read above.

When memories as such

flash into my head, the game of

hide and not tell is no longer helpful.

Creatively putting words onto

paper keeps my hands and mind

from destructive actions.

Accepting that writing stories about war

never goes away.

Writing teaches me to

be indestructible.

A creative action

bringing color to life.