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I started writing this poem years ago, but left it half written and couldn’t bring myself to finish it, mostly because I didn’t know how it was going to end. Today I did…

Sitting here in this airport just look at me,
In a wheelchair bandaged I can hardly see;
My long journey home I travel reluctantly,
All the pain and anger I could not foresee.

Coming home from war to a sideways glance,
My damaged life is now left to chance;
When demons come to quench my breath,
To entice me into a rendezvous with death.

Each night remains the same for me,
Empty darkness of wartime memory;
Jumping off into the black abyss,
My weapon is sighted so I won’t miss.

How long must I lay in misery,
A life not worth living is all I see;
Thoughts of death run wildly through my head,
Replete with epitaphs written after I am dead.

No fateful courage could I decree,
To end a life of tortured uncertainty;
On my wandered course a decision to make,
Life’s anguish forever or my own life to take.

Thoughts come rapping upon my mind,
I shun them gruffly but I still am blind;
The misery surrounding me I choose to feel,
And avoid the process that will help me heal.

Death will relieve not the pains of life,
Nor drink nor drug will loose the strife;
Only when I do choose to seek now to be free,
Will peace in my life come and settle upon me.

2 thoughts on “Home

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  1. I love how the author Jackie Hemingway leads us on an unsteady and emotionally wrought path through a fallen soldier’s determined course through stages of depression, anger and defeat. Finally, resisting the impulse to plummet into the depths of a finite life, Hemingway finds her way out of the murky, deep waters of suicidal tendencies and into the luminous rays of hope and redemption.

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    1. Fiona, thank you for your powerful and thoughtful response. It brings tears to my eyes. Thank you for allowing yourself to probe the depths of my poem and allow yourself a glimpse into the meaning of this as it comes to you. Thank you my dear friend…

      Like

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