Thursday, 20 April 2017

Poem: Coming Home

by Libby Rhodes 



Did you shoot anyone, you know like they do in the movies?
Did you see any animals?
Did you make any new friends?
Did you arrest anyone, you know put them in handcuffs?
Was it amazing , did you take any photos?
Did you bring anything back for me?
Did you?
Did you?

Did you?
Yes. I did.

I had to shoot hundreds of men, women too if they had guns,
It was them or me, that's war, you wouldn't understand.
They were all fathers, mothers, wives, brothers, who deserved their lives just as much as our family does.
Animals? They were were animals. Everyone one of them.
The friends I made were shot. Dead. Lifeless. Still.
No, I didn't need to arrest anyone. Who needs to handcuff someone when they're already gone?
When you're older, as for me, they're permanently carved into my mind.  
There were no souvenirs, I only brought back myself.

I was blessed with my life. As I saw many a man fall to the ground wounded or dead. Crying. Screaming for their mothers. And in the dark nights I was screaming for mine.

Maybe before any more questions, I can come inside and put my kit down.

As I finally get through the door.
Too many questions, making me tick,
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.

I thought coming home would be easier than this. 

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