You Should Never Know

You should never know,
the darkness, I chose to face:
the anger, the hate, the bloody screams;
the gloom, the bitter confusion, the hopelessness of loss;
the chargrilled choir of war. 

Sometimes, in a quiet moment recalled,
the terrain, empty and bare, stark and cold,
the faces, voices, sobs and tears,
echoing melancholy through the halls of now distant memories,
mixing, merging, spreading, sometimes, through the bounds of memories unconnected,
the mix, the mighty melange,
just seconds away, yet years removed,
return.
Such is the sickening symphony of war. 

You should never know the horror that stalks me, calls me – pulls me like a siren – to return. 

Nine lives almost exhausted: so many times I’ve fallen, only to land on my feet,
thousands of miles away from conflict’s precipice,
into your unknowing arms.

A daddy-carefree, home again,
from where you know not.
The place is but a name, esoteric,
Westphalian notions – mildly episomal – of no consequence, of no matter,
just me, home again, available to play,
another day,
before I slip away,
into the shadows,
of the darkness I pray you never know.