Ptsd Poem by Alonzo Titus

PTSD

This day has been a struggle
caused by memories still alive,
in the recess of a spirt
lost from reason or from rhyme,
things that happened long ago
seem to evade the wear of time,
they remain as fresh as yesterday
in the darkness of my mind.

I strive to live a simple life
among others of my kind,
what really makes it difficult
is the hatred that I find,
it started when I returned from war
and America took its stand,
to label the Viet Nam Veterans
right down to every man.
They called us baby killers,
cowards of yellow stripe,
hailed our communist enemies
as heroic in their sight.

I still hear the sounds of artillery
that often wakes me from my sleep,
and the rattle of the small arms fire
that brings sweat to dampen my sheets,
the pain of combat experience
seems to haunt my every thought,
and the horror of mangled brothers
keep my visions of war so taunt.

At nineteen years I lived these things
that I cannot seem to shake,
one cannot explain a filet minion
unless the listener has tasted steak,
nor can a person under stand
the ravages of war,
unless he him self has faced the storm
and returned to a safer shore.


By Uncle Lonnie