by | Mar 1, 2008 | Poetry | 0 comments

His eyes flick open as if a light turned on
No cammo nets or landy’s those days are gone,
He turns, looks at the time, it’s O four fifteen,
No lads to wake up, no weapon to clean.

It’s a pain in the arse, not going back down,
Although she kisses him smiling, it just masks a frown,
It’s been like this before, a long time ago,
The resons go missing, he really dont know.

Need something to fill it, the deafening quiet,
No kettle, no toast, it would sound like a riot,
It’s just as well, he can still “ghost walk”
No need to do anything, not even talk.

The solitude is nice, as long as they sleep above,
He knows in a while he’ll be showered with love,
A daily occurance, they’ve had a “few words ”
Well before dawn, well before birds.

He cant help but remember, from a long time before,
Their tear stained faces, he lies face down at the door,
His crime was no more than the desire to teach,
His killer’s know not, their minds cannot reach.

He forces to think of what the day has in store.
No briefings, no recon, he feels like a bore,
He struggles with guilt, of those not here at all,
She see’s it sometimes, she wont let him fall.

The first bird has wakened, not yet sung his song,
He know she doesn’t like it, to him theres no wrong,
She will smile, “that smile”, no threat no warning,
Cus she knows it will be the same, the next, and next morning.


Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *