norman hale

(2/18/1963 / ohio)

He Hopes To Make It Home


There he stands
On a foreign land
He's just a kid
Forced, to take a stand

But, in his mind
He drifts back home
Swearing to himself
He'll never more roam

With gun in hand
He'll do his best
But prays to God
He won't have that test

He kisses the picture
Of his lovely new bride
He dreams of their love
And smiles with pride

He's just a kid, forced
To hold gun in hand
Ready to fight on
For the love of his land

If he makes it back
Some will look at him in shun
Like it was some kind of crime
For him to use his gun

When he drifts off to himself
They'll never understand
How he can be so distant
And, never the same young man

He hopes to make it home
To the ones he loves
As he prays every morning
And every night to God above

He prays on to God
To keep him free from harm
As he rubs his silver cross
Like it's his luck charm

Though danger can be any where
He marches right on his way
With a silent prayer on his lips
That he makes it home to stay

He thinks of his lovely wife,
How he'd love to have some kids
No matter if it be boy or girl
Either way it would be Gods bid

He thinks of his mom and dad
And wanders how they are
As he looks up to Heaven
Praying to God and stars

Yes, he hopes to make it home
To the ones he loves
As he prays every morning
And every night to God above

written 7/4/2013 by Norman Hale Jr.

Submitted: Thursday, July 04, 2013
Edited: Friday, July 19, 2013
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