and i will remold myself into something new
because failure means nothing at all
when you are everything there is

As I stand here in front of you,
I can barely remember the words that I need to say.
I can barely feel my legs.
My hands are freezing.
My hands are shaking.
I can’t feel a thing.
Yet here I am... standing.

Today I am wearing my battle suit—
miles and miles of white fields of fabric
and underneath is a sea of navy blue.
This is what I wear when I enter the battlefield.
This is what I wear when I enter a war.

Even though the curtains, the clouds, the tables,
The trees, the windows, and the chairs
are well aware
that I’m no longer Interested in fighting.
And even if I already lost my will to fight,
here I am standing.

I am weak.
I am sensitive.
I am fragile.
I am naïve.
I am flawed
I am easily overwhelmed.
I’m a slow learner
I’m a coward
An anxious person
A failure; nothing but a failure
And a disappointment to everyone,
I’ve always been a disappointment

I am just a student.
I am but a piece of sponge to absorb;
comply, learn, read, and write…
even if it doesn’t feel right,
and even if I am not alright,
look at me.
I am standing.

In this world where there seems to be no light;
where the only goal is to survive,
and even if I die inside,
I will choose to fight.
I will choose to be a soldier.
I will choose to be a fighter.
For I chose to be a student
and I chose to be here… standing.

This isn't about front lines and deep mud,
it's not about sacrifice and bands of brotherhood.

It's not calling for silence or for national pride,
it's not about cenotaphs and those left behind.

No, this a thank you to one Ernest Page,
Gunner Sergeant, Royal Field Artillery, 182nd Brigade.

Thank you for ducking, thank you for dodging,
thank you for lasting, thank you for living.

Thanks for returning back home to Brockley.
Thanks for asking Gran and building a family.

Thank you for dad and for little Aunt Betty,
for Pam and for Pete and for cousins aplenty.

Thanks for Rose Cottage, for trips round the lake,
thanks for loud laughter and sleepy eyed late

mugs of hot chocolate and medeira cake slabs.
Thanks for my sisters, thanks again for my dad.

Thank you for surviving, and all that implies.
I owe you it all, I owe you this life.

the only way to survive
it's letting you go
let you go
it's like dying
denying  the thought of you
it's like living in the dark
I’ll become blind
I’ll become dry
but I'll be alive ...
will I ?

Once I thought I  was born  to fly,
till now all I was made to do was rely on,
I was just a standby.
Once I wanted   to be  the snowflakes,
but got cursed to be a snow grave.
Once the mirror used to reflect  me blest (bless),
now it only mocks me to death.
Once I used to love to feel alive,
now all I hope is to survive.
Once I used to love the sun,
now all  I feel is it's burn.
Once I was ready to live life,
now all I  see and face is strife.
Once I used to love the glow in the  dark,
now all I see and face is stark.
Once I was other's cover, their fence,
now all of it is past tense.
Once I was other's perfect illusion,
now all I am left is my own delusion.