Mindfields Poem by Bobbi MillerMoro

This poem was written by a mother of five.
_____________________________________

First, on the outside, I look normal and fine.
Happy, marriage, kids, etc.

Here's the inside:
It is a war zone.

You know like that experience where you are constantly under fire, but
you have to perform excellently?

Your partners that are with you have either died off,
or are doing as well as you are.

Definitely no time to slack.

That experience where you just want to run out of the trenches,
but you realize you cannot carry your company
with you, but you can't leave a man behind?

Where food is rationed, and the enemy is always at your door.
Where your nights are sleepless,
and you awake for the needs of others?

For the most part your fortress has held up,
but you are constantly afraid the fires,
wind, or lack of resources-you'll lose your shelter?

Where you hope and pray for a miracle,
as you continue to toil and sweat,
shiver and shake,
from exhaustion, fatigue and emotional drainage?

Where you know that this war will end-it has to.
You cannot become a casualty either,
because you have too many people you are responsible for.
Where you ask how you got into this fox hole to begin with?

Then you will have a good day, where you got extra rations,
and the sky's were quiet early while you
rested for a bit.

But, sometimes there's torture, like Chinese water torture,
where it is repetitive every minute, every second of the day.
You wish and pray for something to stop it, but not risking the troops.

So you bear it. You try to withstand it as best you could.
Where your company commander is tough and aggressive and sets the bar high.
And expects the same.

Where you do lose souls once in a while,
but you recover.

Where war has made you tougher and more resilient that you could ever imagine.

That retreating is not an option.

Your company expects you to deliver, after all-you brought them this far.
You train your soldiers to one day become officers.

You wish silently they already can support the officers,
but have years of experience to catch up, there’s only so much you can do.

You call out in the stillness of the night for additional support,
and hear nothing in return.

Silence.

You are truly alone in your foxhole with your company.
A signal comes through once in a while, but only to make sure you are still alive.

You know that illness is your mortal enemy,
so you are fanatically sanitizing everything
that you and your troops come in contact with.
Your life line to safety is to get out healthy and alive.

Someday this war will end.
There will be no more bloody messes, poopy messes, no more counting
rations, no more looking at the sun outside your fox hole,
remembering days laying on the sun, relaxing.

As you catch a glimpse in the reflection of your spoon,
you see a withered, tired person. Aged beyond your years.

Why did I get into this war to begin with?
Oh, yeah…to protect innocent ones, and provide more troops to the
cause…and more importantly so I can have a better life.

This has been the hardest battle of the mind I have ever fought.
It has lasted the longest. It is more sever then the battle of divorce #1, and more pounding then the battle of high school, job loss, dating and pregnancies combined.

This is a battle of the mind.
___________________

(Dec.01,2008)
(Porter Ranch, Ca)