Poetry

Vigilance (PTSD)

I am the very soul of perhaps
There must always be an out
Ever wary of ambush, some trap
Escape must never be in doubt

These are things one learns in war
and around violent kitchen tables
Head on a swivel, eye on the door
where peace is naught but fable

A child is born – a warrior made
Innocence does not suit the field
A determined heart and well-honed blade
for those who would harm to feel

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as: , , , , , ,