Back home

A clear meadow on an early spring morn, I thought,
I remember my mother's voice, sweet in the stillness
That preceded waking life, and I breathed in air
Undisturbed by polluted enterprise, I remember it
All, and it comes back to me on a bloody field
In the dead of night, my breath struggling through
A torn cavity, my flesh seared by napalm and
My senses assaulted by the stench of my own
Dying corpse, a clear meadow swaying to the
Gentlest breeze, a hummingbird alighting on a
Fragrant rose, scenes from my memory, an undisturbed
Day, in the bloom of spring, flashbacks of better
Days, before bitter nights, and ricochets of bullet
Rounds, and I fall back to dream of those better days,
As my breath rattles in my throat, and as I close
My eyes, darkness creeping at the edges of my sight,
I sigh happily, and walk out onto a clear meadow,
Fragrances of sun drenched wheat, roses and violets
Preceding me, welcoming me in like a lover who's feet
Have carried him back home.