It Is More Than War

I see his face in every man I meet,
His vision even haunts my nightly sleep.
In agony I remember his touch,
My heart breaks again - I loved him so much!
I damn this world so cruel and vain,
Damn everyone that caused me such pain.

A visionary
A prophet
A martyr
The war has begun.

Just a simple man
A husband
A father
Duty calls to him.

Pride welled inside the day he enlisted,
Fear of this day my only dread;
I swallowed hard to show no fear,
And in privacy shed my only tear
Before marching at his side to the dock
Where flags raise and the iron beasts flock.

A soldier
An army
A cause
The war rages on.

For the pride of our land
A country
A nation
For vengeance we fight

A year or more our country he would defend,
Along the front lines never to bow or bend;
But in the desolate desert sand so vast,
His training could not defend from a final blast.
The evil of greedy men cannot be undone,
And for their profit I now stand alone.

An atrocity
A crime
A death
This war cannot be won.

Once just a proud woman
A wife
A mother
I am now a military widow.

The News

This isn't happening,
My world can't be shattering,
I shouldn't be falling,
God, this can't be real!
Please tell me it's only a dream,
A nightmare and nothing more;
Come morning let it all disappear!
You said you would be fine,
You had to go but it would be alright,
But now I struggle to comprehend,
This military man came knocking,
He now stands inside my door,
Not a word has been uttered,
But I know!
Time ceases to move,
I can see it in his eyes;
Please let it be a mistake!
I can't go on without you,
Why did you have to go?

Battle Scars

She ran her hands over his face,
What looked rough was soft,
The new skin was tender,
Sensitive despite the nerve damage,
He shivered beneath her touch.
She was one of the lucky ones,
Tears threatened to fall,
Such a waste of a man,
Where once there was perfection,
Now lay a disfigured cripple,
Her own personal casualty of war.
Slowly she bent her head to his chest,
Her lips kissed along new ridges,
His healed burned flesh was cool,
Contrasting with the heat from her mouth,
He shuddered as her tongue lanced out.

It was amazing what civilized humans did,
Torturing and burning and pillaging,
Just to win over a bit of land,
Change a ruling class by force,
Appease a nonexistent god,
Claim a lost loved one...
Scars are all that remained,
Torn land and torn people,
Each struggled to rebuild,
Restructure for retaliation,
An unending infinite loop.
The end result was always the same,
Men came home to their families broken,
If they made it home at all,
And the women had to make sense of what was left,
Each dug deep within to find beauty remaining,
Something she was learning to do.

She remembered how handsome he was,
How invincible he once looked;
The tears splashed down,
All she tasted was salty soft skin below her kisses.
His hand rested behind her head,
Soothing murmurs met her ears,
He pulled her back to his ruined face,
He turned his head so only the familiar remained;
The pain he felt was only half physical.
She stalled and resisted his arm,
She stared as she straddled him,
Lifted her own hand and grasped his chin;
It was like inspecting a child for injury,
First one side of the face,
Then turn to see the other.
There! She found him underneath the burns,
Tears halted their progress,
A sad but genuine smile hovered around her lips,
She was one of the lucky ones.

Breaking Reality (pt2)

This story is dedicated in memory of Spc. Christopher J. West and all those who are serving, who have served, and will serve their country but may never make it home.

Return to Part One.





Battle scars. She knew he had been injured, he received an honorable discharge, but she was not prepared for the scars. They had kept in touch through webcam conversations once a week, even through his stay in the infirmary. His only visible injury was a burn across the right side of his face, but she knew he had worse injuries. Knowing and seeing were two completely different things, however, and Bonnie could not help but to cry out when Devon limped out of the terminal, leaning heavily on his uniformed escort.

His uniform was stretched and distorted over the full length cast encasing his right leg, and his right shoe had been replaced by a cast-boot to allow him to avoid sitting in the wheelchair being pushed by an airline attendant. His right arm lay hidden in a sling underneath his dress jacket while his left arm wrapped around a fellow Marine. Despite the obvious pain, Devon was smiling and joking with those surrounding him. The right side of his face was stiff and contorted with healing burns, and his brown wavy hair no longer peaked out from under his hat; Bonnie guessed it had been completely shaved to match what lay under the bandages creeping from beneath his hat.

When he spotted Bonnie by the door, holding his little girl in her arms, the laughter died in his throat. His escorts followed his gaze when he suddenly stopped. The airline attendant motioned Bonnie forward.

Time slowed to a crawl for Bonnie; the short distance between her and Devon seemed to take forever to cross. Somewhere beneath the distorted and crisp skin existed the man she knew, the man she married, the man she loved. The right side of his body was ruined, she reminded herself once again of what he had told her. It was hard to believe as she saw him standing in front of her. They stood staring at each other, the airport and escorts nonexistent. His homecoming is supposed to be a happy affair, Bonnie thought, but she was having a hard time smiling to prove it.

The couple stared at each other in silence, neither could figure out what to say. Eileen broke the silence with a coo, shifting on Bonnie's hip to reach out to Devon.

Breaking Reality (pt 1)

This story is dedicated in memory of Spc. Christopher J. West and all those who are serving, who have served, and will serve their country but may never make it home.





Sunny afternoons in the country were the essence of Heaven on Earth. For Bonnie Logue, the August afternoon was more so - her husband was finally returning from a long tour overseas in the war.

Bonnie lived in a small farmhouse on the edge of an equally small farming town. The home had been a wedding gift from Devon's parents, a home that had seen many Logue children through the generations. With Devon away, the open and empty house seemed like a massive mansion deserted in the middle of nowhere. Eileen helped fill the emptiness, but Bonnie missed the nightly conversations with her husband and the physical contact of another. The first few weeks after Eileen’s birth, the house seemed a prison for Bonnie, isolated from the world with very few visitors. The drawbacks to living in the country sometimes outweighed the gorgeous view and sense of freedom that came with the large plot of land.

With the house cleaned, Bonnie skipped to the wardrobe, anxious to find something to wear to impress Devon. The last time he had seen her, the day they parted, she had been two months pregnant, wearing her comfortable and baggy pajama pants and a sweatshirt, too ill from the morning sickness to dress up like the other Marine wives. Eighteen months later, she wanted his return to be more than just simply memorable.

What a homecoming Devon would have! For the first time, Eileen would see her father for real. Bonnie's heart skipped a beat at the thought of raising their precious daughter alone had something gone wrong. It was already hard enough trying to teach her that Daddy was not the computer screen, but a person beyond it on the other side of the webcam. At almost a year old, Eileen would be walking soon; another milestone Bonnie could not bear Devon missing.

Pushing the multitude of thoughts from her head, Bonnie shrugged into a pair of khakis and a fitted blouse. As she critiqued the outfit in front of the full-length mirror, Eileen cooed her approval from the playpen. Bonnie agreed with Eileen’s opinion, even though she felt she was projecting. Bonnie had been lucky - after giving birth, her body returned to her previous hourglass figure, and she even retained the larger breasts. The fitted blouse accentuated this new change as no other shirt in the wardrobe could.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour away. Bonnie gasped - she had quite a drive ahead of her to the airport. She quickly checked Eileen's travel bag and locked up the house.



Continue on to Part Two.

Coward

I love you. What more do I need to say?
I thought you loved me, but there is another;
How could I not have known? In retrospect it is so obvious,
I guess I wished to ignore it, hoped it was just a phase,
But seeing you now...I know where your heart is.

I stand here to bow out, I cannot compete,
If the service is where you belong, then go,
I will not sit at home waiting, worrying for your safety,
My heart is too fragile, please let me keep it whole,
Just follow yours, go and be with your mistress.

It takes a special kind of woman, a strong soul,
To stand by a man when his heart is elsewhere,
And a stronger one yet to watch him rush off to war,
I could never be her, and I refuse to try;
You call me a coward, and I cannot disagree.

The Soldier's Honour

My duty on Earth has ended for time,
Moving on to guard you my next step,
An honor to live and serve,
The honor awaits to do more yet,
So sooth your eyes and rest awhile,
Still thy heart to live once more,
Forever I will be by your side,
Until the day we meet again.






In honor of Sgt. Charles B. Kitowski III, a friend of a friend and an acquaintance of mine.

In honor of all of those who will never come home.

We will miss you. You didn't have to go, but you did. Thank you for all that you gave.

Goodbye

Boxes piled high,
Bags stuffed beyond zipping,
Not the smallest fleck of dust
Dares disturb the emptiness.
Looking now,
It is hard to believe
This shell of a house
Was a beautiful home
Once upon a time long ago,
Before this thing called life
Reared its ugly fearsome head
And a twist of fate
Born the two of us
To a time full of angry men and war;
The draft it was deemed,
Pulled you away from me,
Never to be heard from again.
The last sound this place will ever hear
Are tears from my eyes
Falling and splashing on these steps.

The Eagle Flies

Standing up in a mourning pain,
Calling out my lover’s name;
Spirit winds carry my plea:
Bring my baby home to me.
Over the sea off at war,
Afraid I’ll see him never more.
At the very least, I ask a sign;
Let me know if he’s alive!

In the misty sunrise,
The eagle flies