Coming Home

war is a harsh subject for many people, especially those who thave loved ones over sea. i just hope that this poem will stike a cord with those people. i am writing this from the point of view a woman "waiting" for a love at war, and how the pai

 

  

 

Coming Home

 

She sits there waiting,
One hand pressed against her cheek
The other, grasped tightly,
Around a scalding cup of coffee.

Her eyes give off a blank stare
Inattentive
Lost in dreams, praying that somehow,
love would come back to her
Alive, breathing
Unaffected,
Thinking to no one but herself, 
Speaking to an empty room.

"He’s late... Why?" 

The steam from the boiling drink,
Rises to the frames
Of her slightly skewed glasses
Twirling gracefully as it elevates, like a dancer
Fogging her vision,
Burning her palm
A vivid cherry red
The color of her lipstick

Without movement,
Muscles unaware,
Senses impassive, 
Skin throbbing,
Fingers loosening,
A brief moment of silence...then
The crash of ceramic against linoleum.

Shattered particles
Stretched across her freshly cleaned floor
Now flooded by a sea of dark water
she doesn't flinch
her hand sways limply
as she continues to think, 

"He’s late... Why?" "Why is he late??

Her hair, in its perfect bun begins to curl upwards,
As sweat thickens upon her scalp
Thinking...

“He won’t come, he won’t come back”
“No one ever comes back from war”
“At least not in a whole,
“Not unaltered”
"Things will be different"

Her vision impassive 
Her eyes unmoving, completely frozen in time
No reaction
She just sits, and waits
For his return
As the black liquid,
Infiltrates her boundary,
Seeping under her pink, high-heeled shoes

But still,
No movement
No sound
Awake, yet in a coma
As if to avoid the truth.

“He isn’t coming home”
"He died there... on the battle field, alone, afraid,
While you were dressing up, lipstick, clothes, shoes
Anything and everything to please him"

"as he dies, you rest in comfort,
while he bleeds you wait anxiously for his return"

"Fixing him a hot cup of coffee. 
That now lies, carelessly upon the floor"
"While you were daydreaming, waiting for love’s return,
He died."

No! she screams without moving her lips,
Fighting against her own emotions,
she has suffered what he has suffered
Living alone, afraid he will never come back"
Living with the fear of his extinction
Her mind trails off

A single tear falls from her motionless face,
Striking the wet floor with a soft, gentle, “plop”
A small, insignificant drop of emotion,
Disintegrating into the black water below
Sealing her fate 

"He is dead, he did die" I am waiting for a dead man, no more no less"

Her body can no longer hold the weight,
Slumping over onto the laminated table,
Her blond hair and peach face wildly plunging,
Into the hardness of reality
Staring blankly at the door
Her blind eyes wide open,
Her mind closed to the world
In silence
She rests... Dreams of past memories
When love was tangible, touchable, kissable
more than just a daydream

Head against table
She waits no longer
A trail of black mascara marks her cheek
Remnants of her single tear
The last tear she will ever shed
Tired of crying, tired of waiting

But then,
Through the silence
Through the pain
As if out of the midst of her dreams,
Awakening her,
Releasing her,
Two hours late,
She hears the soft tap of familiar hands,
Knocking on her door
finally,
coming home

Author's Note

war is a harsh subject for many people, especially those who thave loved ones over sea. i just hope that this poem will stike a cord with those people. i am writing this from the point of view a woman "waiting" for a love at war, and how the pain of being alone and afraid eventually engulfs her. i tried to be as truthful as possible in the portrayal of this subject. so i hope you respect my writing for that.

Reviews

[Ryan]

Kyle, you need to listen to this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhhdNZZkRsE this poem is an extrordinary peice of writing and the song is exactly what your poem is describing. It's a sad song and it's the same plot line. You are an amazing and strong writer, PLEASE keep it up. You're poems give me chills!!

[Aileen]

i like. its realy good. just wondering y wuz he l8te. not like it matters but just wondering. its true 4 sum ppl waiting 4 thr luv ones tht will never come home. i kept wondering if he would walk through th door or not.
keap up th great work.
ur friend
Aileen

[nightmask]

this is extremeley amazing and like a scene from a movie in black and white also it made me think of the song "ghost of you" by my chemical romance I really enjoyed it :) keep it up!

[Kiya]

I almost cried. (Almost!) A poignant poem that leaves a gut feeling in the pit of your stomache afterwards. I really thought he was dead. So sad, and yet happy at the same time. What about those who didn't greet their loved ones? Would they be drived to dementia still beleiving that they would come through that door? I hardly noticed the words after a while. I was drawn in like a cat a fluttering bird (My cat makes a really wierd meow when she sees birds, I didn't exactly do that) and found myself pulling my chair closer to the screen. Bravo!

[Lexy]

Ok, I had to keep stopping myself to see if he really came home. I would not say you are always writing as the "woman" as you say. It's more of a 3rd person view, you're a narrator.