PTSD

Ones  wounds are one’s own
Not yours to hold
Thou one might pray to the Gods
Old and new that you might
Be able to taste the wine
In which now
ones life is ruled by

So simple thoughts
Not so simple anymore
Where the echoes of one’s past
Shatters the hearts of those unknown
such revelations unknown to men  
What symbol a word most used by them
Now an empty void of destruction

The cuts are deep
The scars deep
much like a valley
One can only hope
That the midnight rider
Will sing one a song
That might ones soul be set free

Free from all the pain inside
The cold sweats
The endless bed of nightmares
The constant reminder
I don’t belong here any more
Yet one mights say with a heart so weary
Death is such a romantic song
In such times as this…