Can they see the bloodshed that left them all dead
Wars that have given us all multiple tours
The enemies that were spying
As loved ones were crying
The bullets were flying
We tried fortifying
The war was horrifying
Our sanity was denying
This inhumanity was multiplying
Those scared wanted to flee
War just couldn't let us be
I wanted to end this killing spree
To stop the ashes forming around me
If only they can see how this war has changed me.

She calls them her battle scars;
Across her thighs and wrists are her beautiful memoirs.

They are cursive curly,
Chicken scratched,
And illegible.
Impossible for the world to read.

They are her greatest secrets--
She wouldn't dare tell a soul.

She cries in the night,
Slowly rocking herself.
Her pillow is damp with memories flooding back.

She screams in agony;
How could she ever forget?

Her battle is still waging,
Her wounds grow each day,
No matter how many silent prayers she prays.

The scars are torn open,
Ripped bleeding, and
Gasping for air.
They never go away

She is a soldier,
Fighting for her life.

And the battle is still waging--
Every single day.

Struggling
To stay afloat
In the rapids
Waves crashing down upon the skull
A second above
The next below
Then plunged farther from the surface
Unable to breathe
But there is no pain
Just void
Then an aching
Internal dying
Yearning for the pain
Then, there it is
Water-filled lungs
Brain on fire
Tainted soul

Seeing others above
Emotions fester
Then, a confession
Double confession
Realization
Relief, shock, and overwhelming joy
Then a clasp of hands
Being pulled up
Head breaking the surface
Above the rapids
To calmer waters
Where one can breathe
Where we can breathe
Together
Aid each other
Build a raft
To stay afloat
Sometimes it flips
Sometimes there are moments
When water enters the lungs
Darkness fills the mind
But then
A hand
Takes one up
To the sun

Revived by the one who loves you
The one you love
Embrace
Clasp of hands
The one who saved you
From falling away
With the shadows
Patching the bullet holes
Bandaging the battle wounds
Healing for both

- Jay M
October 29th, 2019

The battle done,

Remaining combatants one,

Gazing up to the gray cloak,

Tailored to the palace of the moon,

Threatened only by the ever-fading emissaries,

Of the ailing sun.



Each a perfect sentinel,

Of solar prowess technical.

The ceasefire teased opposite

By the lunar composite,

Of that sweeping cloak,

Choked,

Where the moon once woke.

Neither one nor other,



As if my breath could the life

Of either titan smother.

my thoughts
have invaded
continents
long before
descending on
this mind
of mine