Going Home

I never went home. I don't remember anything. I don't know when I fell. I don't know where I fell. There was no one waiting for me at the railway station. I have no memory of anything.

But I feel the stinging pain when near a military cemetery. I see the rows of white headstones in perfect formation, an army of ghosts. Each headstone is a different story and a different death. There is the ocassional visit and there are tears in their eyes. A horrible sensation of loss comes over me. But I don't remember.

I stood in Arlington looking across the Potomac. I walked back to the Amphitheater; I am only six, my Dad takes my hand. The Amphitheater is emply, and I thought they'd be waiting for me.

They lay me to rest, I do not know where.

I have no memories, I never went home, but the pain is still there.

Dedicated to those who never went home.