Homecoming

Homecoming
He’s flying back. Coming home.
Weary, worn, but coming home.
Caught in time in the dark haze
That obscures the killer’s face.
An empty war, a stranger foe,
Fighting men he’ll never know.
A lifeless man's hands grow cold--
Seeing death turns young hearts old.
Coming home to places once
Full of joy and innocence
Shakes his world; What, what is life?
Can he live when brothers died?

He’s flying back. Coming home.
Distant, numb, but coming home.
Faces blur and meaning fades
From the life his brother saved.
Then through the crowd runs a child
Arms outstretched, her dark hair wild.
He scoops her up, lifts her high
While she clings onto his tie.
Her mother laughs, draws his gaze.
Her eyes bright, her smile amazed.
She grounds his world; what is pain?
Can he doubt when she remains?

I've been writing a paper on military mortality for my English class--an encyclopedic article. I have to keep it purely educational, and I can't impose any of my opinions or feelings in it. I just want to give something to the women, children, parents, friends, and family that have worried and waited for their soldier to return to them. I hope that my article can provide knowledge for those that just want to know how likely death is. And I hope this can provide some source of whatever my article doesn't cover.

Or maybe I'm kidding myself, like Kieren says, and this is really about me--my worries and my insecurities, and my hope that, like in the poem, the soldiers of America can come home safe. Especially mine.