War and Victory: My Metaphor and Simile

By Braun22

   It was an eerie sound hearing the buzzing of absolutely nothing. The sun was setting behind copper clouds. Walking past the old, wooden fence, I ran my calloused fingers over the post, immune to the protruding splinters. Sixty-five steps from fence to porch. I counted the day I left.


Victory and war; war and victory.

Writing of fighting for my metaphor and simile.

My duffel bag that I have dragged, battered with dirt and holes.

My green beret, proudly displayed, upon my shaven skull.

My legs shaking in my boots atop the porch I stand.

Made of wood that I cut down and built with my bare hands.

I set my bag on the ground. I would need it never more.

Took a breath and composed myself, opening up the door.


            It was a welcoming sound hearing the embers crackling in the fireplace. Despite the way I had imagined it for years, the chair by the flame was just as empty as the words in my letters every night, trying to describe exactly how much I missed her. Only now can my words flow like the water that caused these few remaining embers that I watched slowly fade away. I headed for the stairs.


Every step making more and more noise, like secrets being told.

The wood that once was perfectly crafted, becoming weathered and old.

The door was open, her eyes were closed, my heart had skipped a beat.

Watching her eyes move under her lids, wondering if she is dreaming of me.

Seraphic like an angel on her cloud, lying in our bed.

Leaning over and closing my eyes, I gently kissed her head.


            It was a celestial sound hearing the gentle patterns of breathing emitted from her mouth. I wanted nothing more than for the sun to arrive, an excuse to open her eyes. For so many mornings I awoke, expecting to see her by my side. My rifle was all I found. For years I have dreamt of this moment, only half thinking I would actually live to see it. Now that I have, I will alter my ways. I am forever here to stay. Never again will I leave her side.


Slipping away through cracks inside,

The shattered tears I cannot hide.

Reaching out to fall within,

Now I'm gone for good again.

Your darkest hours spent alone in this room,

Counting down days until my doom.

The speed of darkness has caught up to grieving.

Now I know I was the one worth leaving.


War and Victory: My Metaphor and Simile

Created: Jun 28, 2011


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