your eyes still look familiar
but the looks they give me now are foreign

Devastated scene
Dishevelled bodies 
Dehydrated with 
Dislocated arms 
Disengaged legs
Oh, distressed state rescue teams had
Dispatched the bodies 
Deadlocked war situation 
Displeased, not disappointed
Determined, the soldiers fight. 
Dissembled traits can never be
As a warrior, he is always 
HONOURED 
never Dishonoured

And many people,
Or maybe some,
A few perhaps,
Profess to like my work,
Riven as it is with broken hearts
And torn souls,
Oceans of tears and
Viscera damp upon the floor
Ripped from bodies wracked in pain,
But here's the thing,
I do not write for others,
Each word that bursts from my fingers,
My pen or often times
My keyboard,
With its burden of blood and pain,
Is writ for just one person,
Sometimes two,
Always me,
Always the author,
And sometimes the person whose
Hand was on the knife!

Pain is inevitable,
Suffering is optional.
The crossroads of success,
Is always constructional.

If we could become tress,
Solid and stoic, deep rooted
In Mother Earth's flesh;
We could stand firm
Through the tempest, unswayed.

But we are only humans.
Covered in darkness.
Hiding behind our fears,
Timidly withdrawing from
The ominous tempest.

So, embrace the fury,
The daunting gales that
Once were scary.
After all, you can't
Stop the waves,
But you can learn to surf.

And even if you sank,
Deeper into the void,
At least you'll drown
Knowing there was
Beauty In The Struggle.