The Homefront
I wrote this one after seeing soldiers on campus being greeted by some students. What stays behind their eyes?
“The
Homefront”
“He stares
at the red, cracked earth while he thinks.
He hears the
call; it’s time to go to war.
His feet
march a cadence of fatigue,
His red,
cracked hands grip the stock of his gun.
His rifle is
almost too heavy now,
Weighed down
by the death he claims with hollow pride.
Dead weight
is the worst to carry they say.
At his side
a brother erupts in red,
Fountains
blasting forth, unstoppable, as
The rat-tat
of the guns blisters the air.
He tries to
piece his man back together
But he
can’t, there‘s no man left to save.”
This is what
his eyes say as we shake hands:
No “thank
you” can bring a brother back home.
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