The What-ifs and Hypotheticals

The desert heat feels cold as ice,
but still singes my skin.
Camo makes my skin look pale,
maybe I don’t belong here.
I feel like I am doing this wrong,
the handbooks keep changing everyday.
No-one left behind,
a rule costing many lives.
Today we wage that holy war,
one we have no business taking on.
Maybe this will help me sleep at night,
between the mortar fire.
When did the sand become so hostile?
This used to be the holy land.
I see it in their eyes,
the horror, the pain,
we have no business here.
What If I never get to hear my combat boots,
against the sandstone?
Their click reassuring that I am still alive.
Is it wrong to say,
that I miss the bitter snow?
A reminder of home.
Are the what-ifs and hypotheticals
standing shoulder to shoulder in my way?
Am I blowing this out of proportions?
Should I take it with a grain of salt?
The desert sand has called me,
and I can not just be still.
So tonight I wage a war,
against myself and the hypotheticals.
I close the door to doubt.
Tomorrow the winner will be announced,
blood and tears will be lost.
The desert heat is calling,
and I must go.