Poems and #PTSD

everywhere is sand

it becomes one with the blood

bullet did not miss

~mikey piro ( Feb 2010)


I believed,
But found the time for doubting,
He made no sound,
I heard the devil shouting.

I wanted peace,
I did not want the glory,
I walked in hell,
Now I tell my story.

I sing sad song,
I did not write the music,
I find sad words
Waiting – just inside my mind.

I’ve played my part,
But seldom did I choose it,
I held a gun,
I did not want to use it.

Call it fate or destiny –
By either name, it troubles me.

And now,

If you should look into my eyes,
By chance you might just see
A sad, sad soul that sheds it tears,
Yet lets the heart go free.

And in between the two of them,
If you should read my mind,
You’ll know the soul still sheds its tears,
For deeds left far behind.

But if you see the eagle there,
Then don’t ignore the dove,
For now that all the killings done
There’s nothing left but love.

~J. Miles.


I always found that in the wake of the violence, poetry had the power to give feelings to the words that are just not available with dialog or description.

Wrestling with some more anniversaries.  But, chin up.   I am plowing through this one.  If you have some poems, please share.


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