A Willing ExchangeA Poem by Bob BNondescript, muffled sounds Can penetrate cement and wood And dirt, but silence dominates This dank and dreary neighborhood.
Days are long and nights are frigid Here where I’ve been laid to rest. I slumber with my Purple Heart And other medals across my chest.
How fickle life is! Good intentions And dreams often come to naught. Too late we learn the consequences Of trusting all that we were taught.
Alas, the mighty powers that were Had in mind a contrary plan. They sent me off to fight their war In the mountains of Afghanistan.
“When Johnny Comes Marching Home”: my buddies And I would sometimes sing that song. But fate presented a different plan For my return all along.
I "marched" home, although my marching Was somewhat a paradox: I came home covered with medals And lying in a flag-wrapped box.
Medals! Let the generals keep them. If I had a choice, I’d rather be At home playing with my kids And caring for my family.
-by Bob B (7-23-18) © 2018 Bob B |
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Added on July 23, 2018 Last Updated on July 23, 2018 |