Colin F. Jones

WHEN I GOT HOME

~ 1 ~

Well I knew that I was different when I got home you know,
Nobody seemed to like me which was an unexpected blow.
I didn’t wear my uniform because they all spat on that,
And it just drew spite and curses to wear the Aussie hat.
From bar to bar I wandered just seeking out a friend,
But I could not find one anywhere to help me heal and mend.
So I fled into the wilderness where I could be alone,
Among the trees and Wallabies without a telephone.
Out there, there were no people to curse and swear at me,
To drown me in opinions with which I did not then agree,
Out there I did some thinking and I saw them as they were;
Just simple stupid people with skin still growing fur.
From those years of loneliness I studied more and more,
Why people think the way they think and other thoughts deplore.

~ 2 ~

Each group depends on bias to express collective views,
There is no private thinking no unique thoughts to choose,
It is based on crowds being better than the unique soul,
For numbers give them power thus they are never whole.
They speak the way their training teaches them to speak,
Relying on their prejudice to recruit the mild and meek.
As are buildings oft false fronted they pronounce deceptive wares,
And use established doctrines to formulate your cares
It is based on deeper thinking indoctrinated minds and God,
Who is used to erect their doctrines like bricks inside a hod.
They convince folk of their knowledge by promoting their own Lord,
But behind their sacred altar they wield the Devils sword…
You may think they seek to help you but there is a hidden price,
And you are just another victim if you think that they are nice.

~ 3 ~

It takes time for truth to surface and it sometimes never does,
But mostly things have changed by then when there isn’t any fuss.
Folk think they’ve been forgiven for their vile and spiteful ways,
For over time the media scribes make sure it all decays,
But it lives inside the veterans who were the targets of their lies,
Who suffered from the nastiness that made good folk despise,
Them just for being soldiers who were sent off to fight a war,
And to sell the books for people who each one of them deplore,
But do not mind the money their loud-mouthed rantings bring,
As they scribble all their dribble that of truth says not a thing.
For they don’t care who was slaughtered, wounded or deformed,
And they make only movies of how they themselves performed.
Yes I had some time to study that my mind would see it right,
And I’m happy now to tell you that my brain has perfect sight.

~ 4 ~

Now I write but not for profit with red ink inside my pen,
To gain some fame and fortune from the death of braver men,
But to bring to the surface the truth why soldiers fight,
To show the world that love and trust and loyalty is right,
To show the world what brothers are how love in them is born,
In the face of fear and horror in the bowels of Hells ill storm.
I don’t care about those people who think they are the best,
Who wallow in conceit and then beat their hollow chest,
I don’t care if you have riches or have nothing much at all,
Because the men who I fought with were all quite bloody tall.
All of them were mountains filled with magic dreams
And the passion of their sacrifice lives in the echoes of their screams
That leave me proud but weary that I was one of them,
A soldier from Australia whose memories fill my pen.