PTSD

Another year  
of  
torture;
A silencing of pain  
My heart bestills the weeping
Instead, interrogates my brain
Refurbished, unmarked terror
Where my cells condone decay
All but death  
has  
been  
perfected
To portray what cannot be delayed
Power in the trenches
Where entire strands are lain
Will the unmeshed be soft spoken
To vow our valour die in vain?