A Friend Comes Home
My buddies from ‘
Their faces of death are clearly in sight.
My pillows formed neatly into a sandbag wall,
I close my eyes & await their nightmarish
call.
My blankets are soaked by my fearful sweat,
After all these years will I ever pay my debt?
Only I can see them, me alone;
After all these years my friends have come
home.
I see my buddy wounded, I hear him scream,
Please God almighty awake me from this dream.
His face once so handsome now covered in
blood,
In the monsoon rains he lays in read stained
mud.
My children know I sleep not well,
For they have shared my living hell.
I now accept it, I no longer hide,
They will visit another; I’ll be by their
side.
Michael
D. Monfrooe