Saddam Captured
Seeing this old man was seeing a strange dream ensnared, this powerless, dirty shell of a human, a shell you may toss back to the raging see, but not before perusing its odd shape and visage, a bearded man, dark as desert sands, eyes bearing a strange resignation, defeat crystallized, and as if to say "do with me what you wish, look in my mouth, look in my hair, have your doctors peer into my anus, I am yours now." Almost a masochistic aura emanated from him, reaching like electric tentacles from the TV, stroking my human sensibilities, the sensibilities that strive to be compassionate, the sensibilities that care even about the lost killers. Here is the man who extinguished millions, who took people from their homes and gave them graves to lie restive in, to scowl in, here is the man who stood in boldly in his desert, the desert of his life, the desert of our fears, and threatened to wage the mother of all wars, here is this man, his beard as thick and dark as his shame, a man with no sons now, the news cameras shooting his nakedness of spirit, like he is an unclothed, unkempt ghost trapped on the wrong side of the world, trapped on the wrong side of life. © Lamont Palmer
