PTSD: The Reality Left After Conflict

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
I have been struggling with PTSD for more years than I realized. This poem was part of an opening that I had closed. The muses were alive in this one...It is difficult fearing to feel what was repressed for so long.

There are many different wars around us. Societal, political, and age old. Yet, the internal wars are not addressed as they should be--the ones left after the storm. This poem stands as a voice for the unheard and disheartened.

We are all veterans in our own way.

Submitted: November 28, 2011

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Submitted: November 28, 2011

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The inward skin bleeds daily at repression’s whim.

There is only tomorrow to believe in—

Maybe today’s disdain will fade away…

 

No.

Flashbacks shock the internal playwright

As thunder rolls off the lips of thousands of people

That blame and invade by legions of memory

To wage war on the faint of heart.

 

Today, we are forced to feel what has been so

Difficult to face.

Daemons and ideas collide for the fate of the world,

And unguarded minds are pulled asunder by hatred…

The wind picks up the song of war once more.

 

For vengeance,

For life,

For retribution…

Swords, shields banners and voices held high by the night’s sky

That falls to its knees before the day.  

The next moment, all is haze amidst the broken and battered bodies

That once contained so much hope and destiny.

Now the wind is the only song that sweeps over the lands…

Bodies are the fragrance of genocide.

 

These are the remnants of war.

A wild flare of anger sets the scene ablaze as one

Survivor is carried away.

Who could this be?

Is it you or is it me?

Perhaps we are all carried away by this simple

Array of events…

 

Later, we awaken—numb.

Life begins to filter through the veins and then

Fingers start stinging.

Blood starts searing flesh, it seems.

Eyes are heavy with solemn bruises.

Neurons fire like sparks from sword to sword combat.

Finally, awakening from the cold grips of death.

A massacre is in the distance

And we can no longer just lie,

Waiting for the darkness to conquer.

 

The moment demands life

Even amidst the echoes of despair.

Shattered hearts,

Dust and grime…

All of this in the passing of time.

 

Still life—

Posing for all…

 We were the corpses amidst the fall.

Sunlight shears the horizon’s dread,

Severing its hold on us.

We are more than the enemy believed—

We are fate’s reverie.


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