Poetry Masterwork

So I'm in a creative writing class right now and I just turned this in today as my "Poetry Masterwork." So this is the best I can do at this point. Let me know what you think.

On Arriving Home

A prevailing wind brings with it hints of pressed olives and sun-raised wheat—

the smells of Ithaca.

It fills the sails with speeded flight and caresses time-torn faces.

Of home it breathes, of solace it sings.

The gentle waves lap at the hull,

and push and glide the leaning shoulders to familiar shores.

These few eager travelers, orphaned by fate—

they all smile and thrill—

all but one.

This Odysseus finds a full home so empty,

halls lined with profane suitors

no baptism of blood can purify.

For this warrior has been bathed in flame;

Has borne a bronze crucible—bears it with him still—

battlefields in mind and memory of soul-cracking horror.

Now his haft-calloused hands

find it hard to embrace old companions,

muscle-memory gone, replaced by scars and sinew and salt.

The tired years pass and he now holds a squalling child, where dying men had lain,

And looks past the uneven ends of a stolen life,

on to the horizon, the call of which beckons still.

[Keep following, cuz they be rapin' 'errbody up in here.]