Going Home

A WWI soldier after the war ended. Warning is graphic and contains thoughts of suicide.

Going Home

The war is over
Yet I can’t go home
For I no longer belong there
I belong with my brethren
Lying in the bloody field
My mind still stays in the filthy trenches
As do my senses
My nose still smells the noxious fumes
Decaying bodies mixed with blood, gunpowder, feces, and sweat
My ears still hear
The gunshot reverberating around me
And the call of the general
And the screams of agony
My eyes still see
Friends and enemies alike dropping like flies
The blood and mud splattered everywhere
The terrified faces
The life leaving bodies
My body still feels
The cool wood of the rifle in my hands
The frigid mud on my feet
The dirt and shells falling on me
My tongue still tastes
The acrid smoke
The toughness of rat flesh
And the blood mixed with tears and sweat
No, I cannot go home
For there is no longer a place for me there
They would never understand
My place is here
My heart is here
Lying with my dead and broken brethren
So here I shall stay