Fallen by the Wayside

Sitting on an iron bird,
the desert flashing by below.
To think fifteen months could pass so slowly,
like I'm in another universe.
Blooms of fire light the sky,
as smoke filled horizons hem me in,
and dust becomes my second skin.
Thoughts of home seem like a curse.

Fallen by the wayside,
nothing's going to bring them back.

Tire tracks across the sun,
marking time in days and weeks.
It seems a dream then someone speaks
reminding me that I am still alive.
Firecrackers in my head
and artificial starlight shine
as flares and rockets cut the sky
and tracers crawl across my skin.

I see the skull beneath the skin
when I look into the glass.
My eyes are cold and hard as steel.
I barely recognize myself.
Camoflage and dusty boots,
the armor that I'm girded in,
is all I have to shield myself,
and keep the world from crashing down.