God's dark day

A man of religion prays with his rifle
his faith straight, reasons askew.
Clothes torn and dirty, his feet clean.
On bended knees for the fifth time,
he wishes there was a sixth.
Love and victory by hating all others,
Without regard he believes in only one.

Another on Sunday, family on his mind,
his faith sometimes but always true.
Sundays best, tan and worn but clean.
Grape juice and a wafer just like before,
understanding its meaning from a distant time.
Love of family by embracing others,
with regards he accepts the beliefs of others.

He rises one last time before the sun.
Kisses his family goodbye, his conscious clear and set.
The shadow of death leads, tears of a family follow.
On an empty stomach full of desire he crosses the desert.
A small town on the horizon nearing with every step,
he stops momentarily only to pray, quickly he moves.
The town surrounds him, others with his passion emerge.

Today like others before, uncertain what it will bring.
He talks to his wife, sounds of the kids in the distance,
The same lump forms in his throat as he puts the phone down.
He focuses to see them but first comes the day before him.
Another non-descript town, today’s mission at hand.
He closes his eyes to see and moves without a word.
The camp grows lighter as his brothers appear.

A brief rally cry from a well to do man,
clothes familiar to a place far from filth.
“They’re here to rape your wives, murder your children”.
His bodyguards eye the crowd with suspicion.
He rails with anger, “They’re here to kill your God”!
The crowd is frenzied, his goal complete.
Hurried away, his Mercedes speeds, distance his safest friend.

Tactical objectives from a worn and tired man.
Uniform stained with sweat and sand, clean they’ll never be.
He repeats with caution, “The enemy is cunning and smart.”
His men glance at each other knowing the other has his back.
“We are here to secure the village, civilians to be unharmed.”
The men ready, he hopes by end of the day to be complete.
He hurries up front to lead; danger will be at his foot.

He climbs into the back of a dying old truck;
ten others with him as they speed down the street.
Quickly it stops, they dismount and melt into the battlefield.
He chooses a two-story house, the family long deserted.
An upstairs room with a view up and down the street.
He rigs the stairs so no one passes without pain.
His rifle loaded, extra ammo and Allah nearby.

The Bradley cramped for space, he climbs in.
Seven others shoulder to shoulder as they lumber out the wire.
Without haste, the ramp drops and they form their positions.
His team’s goal a mile away, a two-story house at town center.
A protected roof and rooms to provide shelter.
Booby traps are expected, securing it a must.
His rifle ready, faith and family at his side.

Quiet the streets become in the mid-morning heat.
A stray dog slowly drifts in search of a meal.
The distant cloud of dust consumes the sky
reminding him of the battle yet to come.
He checks his sights for the hundredth time,
finds water in the kitchen; his first in two days.
He prays for the chance to kill many before he dies.

The sounds of tanks and exhaust burn his lungs,
a lone sparrow searching for a shadow.
The ever present town that engulfs the horizon
reminding him of the battle yet to come.
His task memorized, walked through his mind time after time.
He eats a granola bar, unsettled it sits.
He prays for the safety of his family in fear of the worst.

Slowly the cloud appears larger, closer.
His heart beats faster, stronger.
The sweat turns from the heat to the fear of the unknown.
His conscious has questions, his faith does not.
A photograph of his family tucked away in his memory,
an image of Allah before them, this vision he follows.
Explosions begin to surround him, his day has come.

He hits the first wall quickly, cautiously.
His adrenaline pumping, flowing.
Sweat turns from liquid to salted dirt.
His senses question every move, his training does not.
A picture of his life in his pocket worn and dirty,
the view of soldiers before him, it is them he follows.
Mortars firing from behind him, this day has come.

The sounds of tanks laced between the explosions.
His heart is racing but his hand is calm.
He can see in the distance men coming towards him.
Several buildings crumble around him, his untouched.
“It must be the will of Allah, he needs me in the end”.
A nearby explosion knocks him to the floor, quickly he stands.
He feels stronger, braver, “They cannot hurt me”.

Shots of gunfire race over his head.
Adrenaline pushing his limits but his mind focused.
He can see their source just in front of the horizon.
The fire becomes more intense, grenades added to the fray.
He mutters another prayer as he zigzags across the street.
The fragments of an explosion shower him from overhead.
He feels lucky this time and hopes they get no closer.

The men from the distance now closer and within range.
He firmly grips his rile and takes aim down the street.
Quickly the enemy moves, he must be perfect with his shot.
One trips and in range; a red mist follows him to the ground.
His heart skips a beat as another drags the fallen away.
He squeezes off more bullets, none meet their target.
This first encounter with the man that he missed.

The sting of death is now closer, now at his feet.
He aims at a distant window, now silent if just for a second.
Quicker his steps must be to not get caught in the open.
His lead falls, a muffled cry and a pool of blood.
He moves to grab his brother as shots vibrate his helmet.
Luckily he finds shelter for him and his brother.
This time not quite right for a final meeting.

The heat of the room now passing unbearable,
sweat stinging his eyes, drenching his clothing.
His position surely must be known,
the far wall covered with bullet holes.
Surrounding buildings razed to the ground
He realizes his location must be important.
Allah must have chosen him, this spot must not fall.

The heat of the moment burns of fire.
One hand holding pressure on a brothers wound,
his eye watching a two-story house just up the way.
The ground littered with trash and bullet casings.
Stray dogs lie dead; vultures circle high waiting for a lull.
That house is vital as he relays plans to the others.
We must take that house; it is the task at hand.

A pause in the midday sun takes hold.
He collects himself and quickly regains his bearings.
He can feel the push will be made in his direction
still, he readies his position, preparing for the fight.
He finds time to pray, if for one last time.
Virgins wait for his arrival.
The barrage snaps him back to reality.

A moment of rest and a quick briefing in the shade.
He readies his rifle and quenches his dusty thirst.
He takes a knee to catch his breath and thoughts
His brothers take their positions, one hundred yards to go.
One last look at the picture from his pocket
He kisses it and tucks it away.
With the crack of gunfire overhead he moves.

A blur beneath him is all he could catch.
How did he miss them as he turns towards the room.
He waits for the sound of movement on the stairs
as he handles the charge for the trap.
Shouting comes from downstairs and footsteps move up.
He initiates the charge as something goes wrong.
A dull thump hits the floor and the room explodes.

He hits the wall like a thousand times before.
No gunfire to stop them from the room up above.
His group takes their places, orders to move-in follow.
The first one in discovers a trap and removes the danger.
The rest quickly move up the stairs.
He pulls a grenade, lobs it into the room and
follows the explosion with his rifle leading the way.

One to the stomach and one to the chest,
they meet with religion and knife.
Both fall to the ground, eyes locked.
You are my brother, my enemy.
The enemy of my family and my God.
The room grows dim as two families lose.
All in the battle that led to God's dark day.