A war poem by David Tombale: Back home

Back home was my first attempt at writing war poetry and while I've never had personal experience at the war front I was inspired by the works of Wilfred Owen. As one of my favourite poets of all time I felt I owed it to Wilfred to at least try my hand at a few.
Back home

A clear meadow on an early spring morn, I thought,

 I remember my mother's voice, sweet in the stillness

 That preceded waking life and I

Breathed in air undisturbed by polluted enterprise,

 

I remember it all and

It comes back to me on a bloody field in the dead of night,

My breath struggling through a torn cavity,

My flesh seared by napalm and

 My senses assaulted by the stench of my own

 Dying corpse,

 

A clear meadow swaying to rhythm of

The gentlest breeze, a hummingbird alighting on a

 Fragrant rose,

 

Scenes from my memory,

 

An undisturbed day in the bloom of spring,

 

Flashbacks of better days,

Before bitter nights and ricochets of bullet

 Rounds-

 

and I fall back to dream of those better days

 As my breath rattles in my throat and

As I close my eyes darkness creeping

At the edges of my sight I sigh happily and

Walk out onto a clear meadow,

 

Fragrances of sun drenched wheat,

Roses and violets preceding me,

Welcoming me in like a lover who's feet

 Have carried him back home.