I, But

It’s not the view, the weather, or the way of life.
It’s not the mountains, the dessert, or the oceans mist.
But it’s in the faces of home that I find bliss.

It won’t be long, it wont’ be soon, it won’t be now.
It won’t be rushed, it won’t be cut short, it won’t last.
But the joy will be there when I’m joined with my past.

I won’t cry, I won’t scream, I won’t mumble a peep.
I won’t sing, I won’t dance, I won’t even smile.
But all these thing will come when I’ve closed down the miles.

I’m not sad, I’m not sore, I’m not cross.
I’m not joyful, I’m not stoked, I’m not as happy as can be.
But I’m going to expose these emotions when they see me.

I won’t walk, I won’t take my time, I won’t stroll about.
I won’t push, I won’t run, I won’t hurry along.
But I will make it home again, where I belong.

Don’t rush, count the days, weeks, or months.
Don’t worry, cry, or even fret.
But I love you all, on that you can bet.

I’ll come home to you, you, and even you too.
I’ll be there fast, as time rolls slow
But I will get there, this I know

— Written in Baghdad, Iraq in 2004 —