Coming Home
The blind cannot see fallen golden leaves
Yet, Autumn colors still arrive with ease
they scatter like gold medals thrown around
that are never noticed or easily found
Spoken words do not erase grief
that haunts memories like a stealthy thief
they do not cancel thundering chopper rotors
that keep one awake over and over
Brilliant rhetorics full of poetic words
can only be seen when clearly heard
and no one was listening in 1973
as America turned away from soldiers overseas
No joyful parades or celebrations for those
only accusing questions generally arose
like, how many babies did you kill
while enjoying Saigon thrills
The war ended with no armistice papers signed
and for soldiers it continued as overtime
we came home to West coast rain
in San Francisco a woman spit leaving a stain
we learned to walk with our eyes down
in Sacramento and many other towns
Now, we celebrate homecoming for warrior friends
but for Vietnam we were a returning problem
we had PTSD, agent orange insanity, something new
we never heard the slightest thank you
Words cannot describe the pain of it
we felt that we did not in society fit
our grief never easily or eventually pass
as we listened to the rattle of ice in our glass
we were mostly innocent youth tasked
and we did what they asked
during our homecoming they changed the question
while they vilified our honest decision
So now, thankful praise we do receive
as the blind now notice the golden leaves
that fall for America anew
we hear, THANK Y OU for your service so true
