Dreams of the Fallen

As I walk upon this barren field,

I long for my faraway home,

The squat brick house among a sea of green,

The scent of pine and dirt intoxicating and missed,

Beauty is not this foreign place,

Warmth is not this alien sun,

Home is where I wish to run,

Stranded, alone I walk and weep,

The house is a single room,

The size is not important,

That single room holds my entire life,

Hopes, dreams, love, sorrow, past, future,

A space that only a home can be,

Under this sun I fall,

I dream of my warm straw stuffed bed,

Of a fireplace alive and roaring,

Of robust soup cooling on the table my father made,

Of a roof that catches the rain,

Or a window that rattles from the merry breeze,

Of a home I will never return,

O happy dreams,

I weep.