Christina A. Sharik


The noises ~ the sound ~
falling rain on sandy ground ~
the trees, canopies
the dark and the damp
brothers, sisters, base camp
the smells ~ the fears ~ the letters and tears,
the now and the why ~ the why
can’t I cry ~
no answers
just left forlorn, feeling lost
feeling scorn, or
no feeling,
no feeling at all;
except the feeling
of feeling small;
chopper sound, circling ‘round
take me home
go away
but don’t leave
me alone ~
nightmares, day mares
screams in my head
wondering, pondering
why I’m not dead ~
Can’t stand loud noises ~ hate firecrackers
hate backfires
loud sounds ~
sounds much too much like
mortar rounds.
I sit in the corner, facing the door ~
the enemy doesn’t look the same anymore ~
Go to the movies
have to get out; can’t stand the dark
can’t see ~ can’t see
who sits behind me…
Check the perimeters
check all the locks, check all my options
synchronize clocks…
who says it’s over
who says it ends ~
never for dad ~ ever so sad ~
maybe someday for me,
someday for my friends,
the war will be over
and we can forget ~ but
not yet,
not yet…

Author’s Note: This poem is written in tribute to all casualties of war, living or dead