We Aren't Ever Going Home (repost for all who remember and all who can forget)

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Open Poetry #49

We Aren't Ever Going Home (repost for all who remember and all who can forget)

icebox
Member Elite

since 2003-05-03

Posts 4383
in the shadows

0 posted 2016-11-11 10:38 AM

It is cold here
in an endless night,
easy to forget
a jungle is a desert with too much rain,
lonely now
too much awareness
from inner plains of memory,
too little pain
for all that happened,
it could be said it should hurt more
to be dead so far from home;

fear too is cold,
and in passing from all needs of life
I thought we would leave fear,
crushing weight of knowing
we weren't leaving here in any way that could be understood;

quiet now,
not like endless tearing moments of fire and steel,
I remember
how what I thought was real became a child's dream;

running,
thinking I could hide anywhere inside this shadowed valley
where we died as we were busy killing for no reason
but for rage at being killed,
at least no reason that survived;

we are waiting,
friends and enemies,
each quiet with our own separate agenda, some around me I have recognized across what must be years
since the jungle has returned,
and there are trees where I once stood
on blasted ruined ground
mixed out of ashes,
mud,
debris and blood,
shadow memories of fire's licking tongues without heat,
soft recall of madness
in this waking dream through which I pass
awaiting understanding that may take me out of here,
at last;

cold,
so very cold,
sun's heat passes through me without stopping.

I believe
one day I will leave behind this place of green horror
forgotten honor fertilized with death,
where nothing was resolved,
nothing lasting was attained,
where our blood is slowly washed away
every time it rains.

©2004, revised 2008, 2009, 2011, 2013, 2015 by icebox

JerryPat2
Member Laureate

since 2011-02-06

Posts 16975
South Louisiana

1 posted 2016-11-11 12:00 PM

"running,
thinking I could hide anywhere inside this shadowed valley
where we died as we were busy killing for no reason
but for rage at being killed,
at least no reason that survived;"

Oh, this is so good icebox . . . It sums up the whole fantastic poem . . . A poem which gets down and dirty with what was lived through. Each stanza is a stand along stanza. I am more than impressed . . . I am stunned at the gritty and extraordinary scope of this write.

To quote Edwin Star . . . "War, good god, what is it good for"

~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~

Bluesy Socrateaser
Member Elite

since 2002-11-07

Posts 2417
In The Mirror

2 posted 2016-11-11 12:55 PM

I never forgot about it and I was happy to come back stateside. But I was determined to leave it there and not bring it home with me. My life, my family and my future was much better off that way. My father was no different coming back home from his war, WWII.

Your poetry is powerful, but it's yours to reckon with. Only you and no one else. I found this to be true for myself.

...just bein' Bluesy

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