they came home from war
all shattered and worn
the events in the theater of fighting
rendered them torn

the horrors
remain indented in their heads
their dead and injured comrades
awash in blood guts and gore

the smell of ammo
firing off
the ducking for cover
from the very close shot
the thick brush jungle
where ***** traps
were hidden
the indiscriminate
bombs
dropping
from several hundred feet

and they came home from war
and they came home
altered forever
and these ghastly recollections
are ones they'll not treasure

Eyes that call to mind vast and beautiful vistas
Warm soaring stretches of natural wonder, quietly leading into the tranquility of home
Bringing temptation to my heart, mingling with the material of my soul
Together, they dance upon your serenity, beautiful and gracious
So reminiscent of perfection, they serve to anoint the life around you with an ethereal quality
With a blink you emanate the sweetest taste in my mouth
Looking back upon you, is unlike looking at anyone else

Turn on the shower
Feel the soft touches of the water
Smell the Fresh air
Feel the water relax your hair
The heavily scented soap
makes circular bubbles float around.
Shut eye
and mind-travel to whence the day begun
The dirt trickles down with the water
All that is stale is washed
Slide into clean clothes
and plan ahead for tomorrow.

Silently standing in formation as your feet are hanging overboard
A burial at sea is an honor and now it is your much deserved reward.
USS. Ships slowly coming to a halt many nautical miles off the coast
Today is a beautiful day and you’re the decorated remembered host.
As for him, when his ship rolled up upon Saigon's shore
he received many campaign stars for his chest while serving his tour.
Clanging medals as he still now walks all about and right from the start
He told me he was to fast to get caught and in return,
he smiled at me because he never did receive a purple heart.
The stars and stripes are now starting to swirl into one and another
contorting colors now begin to weep while flying at half-mast
Squeezing triggers the firing party’s rifle’s now begin to blast.
As you’re lying there peacefully and in your "Aurora" stainless steel bed
A special scripture is read and prayers are then said.
Tilting the platform so you slide off and fall into the deep ocean
with twenty holes two inch in diameter
and one hundred and fifty pound bags of sand hidden at your feet
when you get to the bottom, Davy Jones, you will then meet
till then you’re heading to the floor traveling there
like always, in slow motion.

(SirCARSr. 11-30-13)

synopsis of trajectory type tragedy
the day after the dreaded day
and the meals limp leftovers now
stuffed into the bulging fridge
our new neighbour taps at the door with a
synopsis of trajectory type tragedy
she spills her daily story with soft sounds
all over the living room glass table
and plays with its entrails
while trying with halfhearted desperation
to pry certain monies from certain people
without being too specific cause then that'd be rude or something
her projectile vocal charade slowly subsides
into a vapour trail of trying to get her get well
out of the spare change the sing flier has left behind on
the last beer run of the night next door
he is passed acknowledging himself
her feet ignite the carpet
when the bag achieved is glory in her ***** pocket
she cooks her dinner in a spoon
and the night is
spent chasing the fluff across the spaces in her mind
and deep in bathroom mirrors
fascinated by the focus
and delicate operations it takes to get
the place into what it shouldn't be
she falls asleep with her hand in some old mans pocket
as the sun creeps over the lost horizon
she admits in a whisper
that we have become the lost children
that we have become shadows of what we once thought so grand
filthy clothes replace
the latest threads from the fashion house
and the newest thoughts are fresh off the press too
the defend the empire of the needy
and require the few to to fend for the many
but the reality is
we live hand to mouth
day to day
desperation is measured in moments
that you cannot answer the tears in her eyes
she rattles around the kitchen
making me coffee
and two eggs over easy
but her own breakfast she cooks in a spoon
the projectile tragedy was the last
thing i wanted to relive
but here she is on my living room carpet
my ex chatting with my current
and im in the other room
holding
out hope that someday you will cease
this and come home to stay
the candlelight denied its own shadows
it moved with the wind but resisted change
it was a late fall evening
and the wind had grown cold
with winters first touches
and there in the only light
she showed me her face full of trackless tears
and the troubled things that lay within her mind
the choice of changing words
never spoken clear never spoken quick
but the story they gave me was
a dark tale flowing from her past
the places she had been in the years
and how she was
hoping to come home at last