The pages of my journal from Iraq didn't make it home. I tore them out and burned them in an attempt to forget and erase my pain. Futile, but it seemed the thing to do at the time and I was out of my mind with emotional and psychological torment. Somehow this survived and I'm pleased that it did.
The desert wind
Listening to the wind sigh across the desert in the early morning darkness.
It's a sad, lonely sound.
I am one with it.
It knows no home.
Take me to my father.
There...there is where peace will be for my soul.
THU 19 FEB 09 Cp. Cropper, Baghdad