The Stain Upon My Hands Poem by Saint Cynosure
The Stain Upon My Hands
True through years,
and countless tears,
the numbers I have lost.
But death does things that go unseen,
inside a soldiers heart.
Many nights are without sleep,
days are without laughter.
Sounds they are at times like bombs,
that steal the peace Im after.
Far away from everyone,
in a room that's full of many.
Comfort is an empty word,
without the trust of any.
This is what my breaths became,
the payment for my sins.
Of all the lives that I did take,
its for mine I wish the end.
Wish to end the evil dreams,
that keep me without sleep.
The torment of an empty box,
on the sidewalk of the street.
The need to have my knife in hand,
while setting in the pew.
Tormented by the death I've bought,
who's face I see on you.
Medicate to sooth myself,
bring to me some peace.
Deaths the stain upon my hands,
that only I can see.
'True through years, and countless tears, the numbers I have lost. But death does things that go unseen, inside a soldiers heart. Many nights are without sleep, days are without laughter....' These lines are beautifully written, inherently true in a universal haunting depiction of soldiers cursed by war plaguing memories and the lines 'The need to have my knife in hand, while setting in the pew. Tormented by the death I've bought, who's face I see on you.' brilliantly sadly portray the inescapable immediacy of conflict memories that cannot be exorcised easily if at all, by changes in location or the passing of time still unable to start or complete healing 10+++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/19/2024 2:30:50 AM # 1.0.0.1119
We, who have not felt the pain of killing others in war never think, of how much it can destroy the human being. How hard it is to live after. This sad and wonderfully introspective poem certainly opens our eyes and our hearts to what it is like. Extremely moving and excellent work.