What would be the state of mind of a young man coming back home after war?
__________________________________________________
Cares and worries cast away
Overflowing with joy since break of day
My head heavy seeing many dead
Incessant shots, much blood shed
Now excited like a small child
Going home to unwind tensions piled
Back in my streets, I see happy faces
A joyous welcome, warm embraces
Chatting with family, eating home food
Kneeling down to God, expressing gratitude
Humming a song, glad to be alive and free
On my bed I sleep carefree
Merciful lord end all wars
Erase war memories, war I deplore
21st February 2021
Written for coming back home contest by John Hamilton
the first
tongue
you tasted;
nay!
the pounding
of heart
that followed—
guile or guilt?
you,
a farmer
and each till,
a harvest
of naive torsos;
philistia.
angels hatting nurses' cap
tumble
in hills
popping sounds,
grenades
through tunnels
playgrounds,
scamper about
in red-wet-dripping
skirts
dancing to fear.
a little boy
of four
seated
in defiance
upon his
mother's remains
weeping
his last,
protesting
against God
and machines.
if only once
that the essence
of living
is the wastage
and passage
of time;
and that death,
a scattered form
of love,
is merely the sleep
of atoms.
**previously published in ArcPoetry.
SOMETIMES
I SIT HERE WOINDERING
SOMETIMES
I SIT HERE DAY DREAMING
SOMETIMES
I STAND IN THE SHOWER CRYING
SOMETIMES
I BLAM MYSELF FOR EVERYONES DISAPPOINTMENT
SOMETIMES
I SIT HERE CRYING
SOMETIMES
I SIT HERE BEATING MY SELF ON THE IN SIDE
SOMETIMES
I BLAM MY SELF FOR EVERYONE HATTING ME
SOMETIMES
I SIT HERE WISHING I CAN TURN BACK TIME
SOMETIMES
I SIT HERE WISHING I COULD HAVE DONE THINGS DIFFERENT
SOMETIMES
I SIT HERE WOUNDERING WHAT I CAN DO TO AKE MY LIFE BETTER
SOMETIMES
I SIT HERE THINKG OF THE PAST
SOMETIMES
I TELL MY SELF MY LIFE WOULD BE DIFFERENT IF I WOULD HAVE STUCK IT OUT