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Saturday 17 September 2016

Wounded

My self-spawned wound 
seeps...
it splinters
my fragile
fractured mind

Oozes...
vicious
poisonous thoughts
of razored remorse
violently...
into my veins

Skins my eyes
of precious memories
leaves behind
only...
the blood to congeal
in the shape of our demise

My eyelids...
tremble
as the moon
eclipses, gently, the sun
echoing loudly...
the absence of you

© Debbie Razey 2016 



The Marching Dead

It's not pride...
but sadness I see
Minds caged...
yearning to be free

Feeling alien...
even amongst their own
Guilt and shame...
self-loathing has sown

Bewildered...
by a world gone insane
Facades failing...
to disguise their pain

It's not pride...
but sadness I see
Minds caged...
yearning to be free

Feeling empty...
without a hand to hold 
Hearts sever...
as another family folds

Feather beds...
replaced by concrete floors
The Marching Dead...
lost souls displaced by war

It's not pride...
but sadness I see
Minds caged...
yearning to be free

No wounds visible...
damaged deep inside
Lives destroyed...
some parade, some hide

Wreaths are laid...
but not their ghosts 
Tears fought back...
drowned in drunken toasts
 
It's not pride...
there's only sadness I see
Minds caged...
by Combat P.T.S.D.

© Debbie Razey 2016