Coming On Home
Coming on home,
in a rain storm on the 4th of July,
watching the neon colors of explosions
blowing high up in the dark, purple sky
spraying joy and happiness with designs
of man's love and creation.
Coming on home to a place
that is warm in the heart,
but cold in the mind of harsh memories
and of brushed fingertips and slashed backs
and broken bones and snapped spines;
warm in the heart... coming home to my baby
whose been gone for way too long,
and it's time for her to come home now!
Coming on home with a suitcase full of nothing,
and a book full of nothing,
and shoes and pants and a shirt and jacket filled with nothing,
coming on home with nothing,
nothing... at all-
Brains full of nothing but wasted air
and a mind full of broken dreams and worries
that snap in a moment's notice
without hesitation break my own back and snap my fingers
and blind my eyes with lye and grin at me,
as I come on home to nothing-
Coming on home,
homecoming,
a crown and sash(Homecoming King and Queen)
the dance, all the pretty girls dressed in white and blue
and the football game,
the home team loses by a touchdown,
but the kids they're still cheering and the cheerleaders do backflips
and smile and laugh,
the quarterback kisses his girlfriend on the fifty yard marker,
that was used for a battlefield;
(Boy, what a happy couple, voted the cutest couple in the Senior Polls)
Coming on home,
nothing special,
just another year with the same old heartbreak and sorrow
and same old smiles and frowns and dances and games
and cars that roam freely up and down the highways
and side streets going 90 in a 25.
Coming on home to a dark world
and for a moment everything is quiet
and sincere, and bang!!!
A high school romance that was never meant to become
was destroyed by envy and jealousy,
and this poem was written out of tears and a broken heart,
that has been shielded by smiles that hurt my face,
and tears held back that blinded my eyes,
and a scream that couldn't come out,
so it sits there, a lump in my throat
and this is the only way I can get it out,
by coming on home,
and writing this poem,
in peace and quiet.
.1.24.2014.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2014
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