There were many things to blame,

Actions and words equally balanced,

The ones who mattered left,

some sailing over a lake of fire, stayed.

Charred for life, burned, reduced

And incomplete which will never change…

Faces haunt, for memories don’t die,

And on cold nights like this, come back…

The wind flips back the page

I’m ready to turn over,

And the chapter rewinds,

Before one passed receives a proper grave,

And threatens and curses.

The rain hasten and out of your window,

You see your own ghost,

Hanging from a tree,

As you ought to have died the first time,

Giving up…

Like everyone else around you does,

Giving up on everything.



Over the horizon I can hear the battle-cry,

See the tiny red flag you wave at our enemies.

Your chariot, splattered with the blood and soil,

Brings me back your sweat, and an end to my wait.

Our home’s been desolate, dusty, your guitar.

My incomplete letters fills my desk,

Letters, I wouldn’t send you to bring you home.

It’s our world, I know your fighting for,

I must be selfless, but how can I be?

Your shirt, I wear to bed, at night,

Your scent lulls me asleep, and dreams.

The ghostly  us, happy and together is one.

The cries sound nearer, the flag grows bigger.

I wish it wasn’t a dream, and it was really you,

Coming home, a victor.