Homecoming

This place was home,
He knew its roads well
He found it hard to unwind
After leaving its dusty trails.
Tormented with dreams
Of his time spent in hell
It’s all he speaks
When he tells his tales.

They burn in the flames
Faces, not names
Playing sick little games
With their precious remains
While others got locked in a cell

And where was he?

Strong enough to survive
Perhaps lucky
He was still alive,
Somewhere drowning in beer
His fourth or so today
If he were so lucky,
Why doesn’t he feel that way?
Should he have died in that place,
That land he called hell?
Over there was nothing,
This was the real prison cell.

A wounded man with no name
Broken, alone and ashamed,
Looking to place the blame
With hands, blood stained.
Living a nightmare,
All to real…

And a medal on his chest!

Was that all he had left?
Surely he had to know
More than that remained,
He calls for another drink,
Trying to drown his pain,
In a place called home
My how things have changed…



J.A. Wine