What pulls me back to that place?
Where the sun burns on my face,
And the sand hides many dangers,
Put there by bitter strangers.
There is a compulsion to go back there,
Where every step is taken with care,
The sweat trickles not just from the heat,
Thinking of the enemies we try and defeat.
To be there to do what we trained for,
To give freedom to who had none before,
This is the feeling that I get,
Like needing another cigarette.
Trying to get rid of these temptations,
And stating with our close relations,
Always thinking of patrolling the brush,
Looking for that adrenaline rush.
22 Feb 11.