The Awakening
Many nights, eyes open I lie awake,
The thoughts of him make my heart ache
Memories of a wounded man.
Forget him, how? , I don't think I can
My future shrinks, my breast it aches
Maybe my death is what it takes
Medication doesn't help heal
There's agony here, that I still feel
The hours pass toward night’s demise,
He waits for me upon the sunrise
Is it ignorance or horrid bliss
That makes me suffer, so like this?
I sit in classes, with others like me
The doctors say it's P.T.S.D.
These men all have battle scars
From loosing men who were in their charge
They too used all at their disposal
That day there was no guardian angel
Guilt holds you in it's grip, never letting go
Of men who died that day, oh so long ago
Some of us die slowly, everyday, in our own man made hell
We carry with us every day tons of their shrapnel
If we could go back and give our lives for ones that we have lost
To a man we surely would, it matters not the cost
Jim 1995
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem