Lucky One

A row of books upon a book-shelf
Colored covers hide the tales within
And only if we stop to turn the pages
Will we find how each story begins….

He came back home today, they call it furlough
A well-earned rest from all the bloody scenes
They say he’s changed, the boy from Silver Hollow
Is not the jolly lad he once had been
They cannot see beyond the blue reflection
As he stares off somewhere beyond the stars
Seeing all lined up in sad perfection
His bloody souvenirs, his hidden scars

They all agree he’s one of the lucky ones
So many of his friends will not come home
They slap his back in grand congratulations
And say ‘drop over for a drink sometime’
But he’s not like a book that they can open
Nor can he close the covers of his mind
As he returns unbidden to the pages
Of horrors that he thought he left behind

He longs to scream aloud, ‘there are no lucky ones
No winners in this bloody hell called war
But silently he turns to count his trophies
His crimson souvenirs, his hidden scars
Only God can see what’s on these pages
The torment of the echoes in his mind
Oh God, he did not want to be the author
Of a story that he just can’t leave behind

A row of story-books upon a book-shelf
Pretty covers hide the tales within
And only if we stop to turn the pages
Will we know how each story begins….

All rights Reserved
Janet Martin

LEST WE FORGET!!!!!!!