Baghdad

The roaring drum of twenty-thousand horses, Muffled by the headset’s insulation, The silence joined in flight within the darkness, Above a war torn, tattered foreign nation. Descending though a wisp of icy clouds, With its narrow bands of clear precipitation, As traffic builds around the holding pattern, We vector to the west for separation. But looking down upon this fractured city, This looming mass of sprawling population, You’d never guess the violence that is carried, In the name of God’s religious vindication. The peaceful nature of these foreign people, Who pay dearly for each shot and detonation, Though so many of them laid their rifles down, They still suffer six years after “liberation.” But the runway lights are burning though the haze, As I push these thoughts from out my concentration, Tonight this land I’ll leave behind and sleep in my own bed. Oh, the benefits of modern aviation. Hey, just a rough draft I spit up last night and wanted some help with. The narrative is taken from the perspective of a pilot flying over Baghdad, noting the serenity of a war torn city from 20,000 feet. I know the meter is a bit rougher on this than is my standard, but it's intentional. I haven't decided if I want to smooth it out or not. If anyone is familiar with Kipling's "Stellenbosch," that's the jumpy meter I was hoping to imitate. Any comments or critique would be greatly appreciated. T.