It never rained confetti
the day they came home.
Memories, like torn paper,
fell in drifts as high as
skyscrapers, buried beneath
napalm-scorched nerves.
Sharp vines coiled through thoughts,
spinning like helicopter blades
lost in the jungle of
sweat-soaked sheets.
Letters often arrived first,
thin envelopes heavy with dread,
before taxi-delivered telegrams
confirmed the worst.
And sometimes,
a single knock at the door
foretold a heart
ripped from its place,
like a booby trap hidden
beneath their feet.
There were parades of fear
and rivers of drugs,
but no applause.
Only a long road
stretching beyond sight,
lined with tattered flags.
Powerfully penned, Tim. Another excellent write with lots of layers of my friend. Soldiers returning from war possibly Vietnam? That’s where my mind goes anyhow. Amazing read brother. Appreciate you.
Damian