NO LONGER MIA By Amy Comer They finally brought you home to me, The uncle that I never knew you see. I have heard so many a thing, You did to help our freedom ring. But now you're home again to tell, Even though you can not yell. Despite the fact that you are gone, Your memory will still live on. You are the uncle that I never knew, Yet, I've heard so many things about you. You were kind and gentle, with a wild streak, In life you sought to please and seek The ultimate good in this life, Though it only ended in strife. Now you're gone, I don't know why, All I can do is sit and cry. I am so glad you're coming home, It is so good to finally know. It's sad to have to see your eyes, Now your chopper never flies. I'm honored to be given the chance, To capture even a fleeting glance. At the wall I stop and stare, And contemplate my reflection there. It's as if I can see your eyes, And hear the startling sound of cries. Of those who bravely gave their life, So we could live without the strife. I'm really glad you're coming home, It is so good to finally know, The uncle that I never knew, I just wish it was the alive you. I LOVE YOU! Dedicated to Howard B. Comer Jr. and to all those who served before him, beside him and to those who serve now to ensure that our Freedom rings.

Shadows
By Christi Comer

I was born many years after your death.

We’ve never met and still you live on.

I don’t face the battles of life alone

From the shadows you stand a silent watch.

You are my Brother and my friend.

In you I’ve found the Courage and Honor

To stand for the first time at The Wall

From the shadows you greet and embrace me.

I finally learn the facts concerning your death.

Like an ambush on a "friendly" trail,

The pill is a bitter one to swallow

From the shadows you provide a cold LZ of comfort.

Time is moving much faster now.

I have a new life and a future husband.

Still in my quiet moments I remember you.

In the shadows I bunker down with your encouragement.

Welcome Home

I stand facing that cold gray stone for the first time,
Your name leaping out at me.
My breath is squeezed from my chest.
Finally, after all these years, you're home.
I want to speak, but the words aren't there.
I choke back tears as I kneel
On the hardened clay that is now your bed.
Hesitantly, my fingers brush across the letters
Cut from the granite.
I don't want this to be real,
I've lost you before I knew you.
Trembling as I stand, I honor you
With that long-awaited Salute.
Your Brothers are at my side joining the Salute
And providing much needed support.
I turn away as the tears begin to flow.

"Welcome Home Soldier."

©Christy Comer

War and Peace

As you stand on the now silent battlefield,
     there is little hope of finding friends before the body count.
In a daze, you stumble across a familiar face,
     battle-lines etched in his countenance.
Those still walking have cheated death once more
     yet are overcome by feelings of guilt.
Angry at God for taking "the good ones"
     and angry at yourself for not protecting them,
     you say, "It should have been me."

Finally at peace, you look out at the Brothers
     that mourn your death.
You're honored as their fingers brush
     across your name carved in that black stone.
You hear the cries
    and feel the tears they struggle to hide.
As you reach out and wrap them in your arms
     they are comforted and encouraged.
    You say, "It was meant to be me."