Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

a poem by tobias kerins, UK

As I look over my shoulder, I feel forty years older
When I see, the events which unfold
The lighting is failing, the children are wailing
And my blood, runs steadily cold

The carriage goes quiet, like the dark of the night
People’s faces, they check side to side
The doors are locked, and the exits are blocked
Nowhere to run, or hide

Words are shouted, which no one doubted
Were intended, to create much fear
People they froze, their eyes they closed
The future, was very unclear

His vest ripped apart, with no change of heart
The package, taped tight to his skin
Into a tirade, hand gripping grenade
Oozing, adrenaline

Time was short, was the immediate thought
Action indeed, was needed
It was black and white, and we must fight
Or death, would be conceded

Punches were thrown, and the grenade had flown
Luckily, the pin stayed in
We tackled him hard, played our last card
Finally, we began to win

The wires were ripped, the machine it blipped
Red light, faded to black
He was on the floor, could do no more
We had managed, to thwart the attack

I went into battle, where people rear cattle
That, was their daily muse
Women searched for water, a mother or daughter
The bombing, did highly confuse

Buildings they crashed, all hopes were dashed
Of civilians, they were not to blame
Much blood was spilt, a grief stricken guilt
Results, of an evil war game

Then we flew back, completed attack
Some remnants, lay dead on the ground
Bodies were scattered, and I was not flattered
As many, did not make a sound

I lurched upright, and in my sight
My hands, were dripping with sweat
I ran through my hair, for a time did stare
And lit up, a cigarette

I was at home, was all alone
A nightmare, I had been here before
Shaking with fear, from the fridge a beer
Traumatic, of that I’m sure

I try not to think, about being on the brink
But when I’m asleep, it returns
Those children crying, possibly dying
Just one of, my many concerns

Post traumatic stress disorder, has no limit and no border
A cruel reminder it is, of days gone by
No cure’s been found, to erase this sound
Of dilemmas, a man can’t defy

So spare a thought, for those who fought
A situation, evil and unkind
And let us pray, each and every day
That a cure for this, we will find

Just What Were They Thinking?
The Maltese Falcon Vol VI

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