Harlan, My Tintern Abbey
The Proud Doughboy marching
In stasis, as everything around him
Ages as vividly as he has.
Time may have forgotten the model,
Time may have seen to the upturned dirt
Of generations still, but the fact remains
The statue glares off into the distance
Awaiting the future he will never meet.
As much in my blood as in my mind
I exaggerate the blissfulness of days
So far gone they have become scrambled
Memories, which drive me to understand
That just as Fine Art, through the eyes
Of one who sees beyond the brush strokes
Senses an invigorating embrace to a life, world
They can never touch.
When first returning Home I am forced by nature and will
To stop and Breathe in my memories
As my entrance is hindered by
The one flashing red light.
Though, all need is gone
The sentry stands fixated among
Crumbling buildings, no longer
Marking danger or caution,
But as a proclamation.
WELCOME HOME!
And Wholly we Remember our home,
Where winters were filled with snow
And absent of all cold.
And the hills sang with life and color
Even with the absence of rain;
Unless we leaned back
On the cornerstone of happiness
Where our friends and family entered our home
And listened more than watched
As down pouring rain washed all cares away.
