These hands cannot bear the weight of guilt,
that lays here drawn across this quilt.
let loose the blood that clings to hands,
and throw off this fate a strand by strand.
ive been to war ive lost my way,
gone and blind from the light of day.
faces haunt these pastel walls,
and ghost they haunt these sanctuary halls.
A lover that is bleached by blood,
the staining returns in holy flood.
the name of god cannot relieve,
the curse thats here upon these sleeves.
An enemy i see behind her gaze,
i **** her behind this bloodstained haze.
Rock me now in my great despair,
closed and weeping beneath these stairs.
Her eyes are watching dead and empty,
blaming me for this mental depravity.
I hang up these arms,
to prevent all from harm!
with one kick the chair flys free,
releasing me from this crazed insanity.
the last breath breaks,
and with me my lover wakes,
in heavens hold,
free of that blood that ran so cold.
sorry for the rather depressing subject, i wrote this when i found one of my old english books where we studied world war 1 poetry, and the shell shock victims and post traumatic stress sufferers. I just think its such a powerful subject and really heart wrenching to think these people didnt have the help they needed after serving their countries.