Poetry by Gregory B. Kirklin

Homeless is what we are,
but it’s not who we are,
we are men and women, boys and girls, Fathers and Mothers, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters.
We belong to different families.
We are warriors, combat and non-combat, wars fought on American soil and foreign soil.
Wars past, present and future.
We are warriors, battling the mind, battling the body and battling the soul.
We are Baptist, we are Catholic, we are Muslims, we are Jehovah’s Witness, we are non-believers, we are all races and colors.
From the rich to the poor and the middle class, a part of society and a menace to society.
We are addicts, we are alcoholic, we are felons, we are teachers, we are bus drivers, we are truckers, we are the next-door neighbors.
We have dreams and nightmares, ideals and goals, likes and dislikes, cries and pains, we have book sense and street sense and lose our mind on the things we have left behind.
We are voters and non-voters, Republican and Democrat and left-wingers.
We are the Constitution of the Unites States, the Declaration of Independence, the I have a Dream, the home of the brave and the land of the free, and we are In God We Trust.
The beginning explains the ending.
Homeless is what we are,
but it’s not who we are.

A Warrior’s Journey Home . . .
We are Warriors; We all have a journey; We all have a need to find home; Some have been warriors on the battlefield; Some have been warriors of drugs and alcohol; We are all warriors of the mind, body and soul; Our journey has scared us as well as others; Our journey has been North and South, East and West; Our journey has been through the mind and the body and the soul; A warrior’s home may have been blown up. A warrior’s home may have been foreclosed, a warrior’s home is where he can rest the mind, body and soul.
A Warrior’s Journey Home . . .

The Voice of a Warrior . . .
My voice is young and old; My voice is black and white; My voice is rich and poor; My voice is weak and strong; My voice is victory and defeat; My voice is yesterday, today and tomorrow; My voice is heard on American soil; My voice is heard on Foreign soil; My voice is full of life yet full of death; My voice may be lost, but it will never be forgotten; My voice is for you and back to me.
The Voice of a Warrior . . .

Poetry by Gregory B. Kirklin
Greg Kirklin in a 57 year old 8 ½- year Army veteran. Greg is currently a resident of Freedom House in Kent, OH. He lost his job in January 2012 and experienced a self-described downward spiral that resulted in being homeless. At Freedom House, Greg participates in daily therapeutic sessions, including writing therapy. He participates with the Warrior’s Journey Home ministry and hopes to start college soon.