Moroccan Retreat.

High on desert winds they sail,
sand blows in to fill their trail.
As memories of the battle fade
they hoist their flag in search of shade.

Camels loll like snoring hills
their heaving ribs soaked in the kill
the men dismount in need of luck,
the way home choked, their words dried up

Lips cracked and looking pale,
the bugle boy is feeling frail.
Helmet split and lost at sea
hallucination soothes disease.

Mercy, Mercy, Sweet Salvation
Deliver him his destination

As shadows stretch from the sinking sun,
the dark commando cocks his gun
eye's clenched tight, a brief prayer spoken
the shot rings out, the beasts are woken.

by Ashley Hawkes

Comments (2)

Ashley, The vastness eats us alive, where we hide we are swallowed by our fear, yet strange beauty holds us up. I love the camel's snoring hills. Have you ever ridden a camel? Its a trip! Actually quite good. Anyway, good work. Phillip
your words flow nicely throughout this poem... dan