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Yea, That's Home

Poetry By: Daemon Micks
Non-fiction



Not everyone can be home for the holidays. This poem describes the situation that a close friend and many Active Servicemen face and feel during the holidays.

DO NOT BASH THIS OR YOU WILL BE REPORTED


Submitted:Dec 1, 2013    Reads: 29    Comments: 4    Likes: 2   


And now I sit,

3000 miles from home,

A tear in my eye,

oh how i wish,

I was there,

laying next to you,

Cuddled up on that old brown couch,

watching some boring old cooking show,

A cup of hot tea in one hand,

And your soft little hand in the other,

With your soft voice calling me stupid,

As I make what the t.v. said a sex joke:

Yea, That's home.

Snow covering my old Ford pickup in my parents' driveway,

A place set for me on our Christmas table,

My pile of junk in the guest room,

An unmade bed that we're sleeping in until I'm gone again:

Yea, That's home.

An aging mut dog, sleeping on our feet,

And a beagle curled up next to us,

Happy I'm Home for a bit,

And your parents blowing up your phone,

Wondering when you're going back tonight,

And my parents saying "No you can stay,

The snow is too bad."

Yea, That's home.

Here I sit,

Sharing a room with a buddy from basic,

a tear in my eye and a hope in my heart,

That we wont need to be ready to "Fight Tonight",

Hoping that I can call you again before I go back to sleep,

And hoping tonight won't be the last thing i ever say to you.

Yea, That's home.





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