Ptsd...Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

By Philip Lore

Bright summer days,
Snowy winter nights.
July’s bright fireworks,
Decembers Christmas lights.

Bitters memories, choking my brain,
Duty calls, in Iraq, in this war I remain.

No imagination here, to settle me down,
Just grim, scarred souls, staring at the ground.
Profoundly aware of wars reality,
Dreaming of home,
How great it can be.

No expression,
Justy agony and strife.
Fighting with the bravest,
Fleeting images of our life.

Battling depression,
I fight it so hard,
Atone my transgression?
…Or disregard?

All my memories in life,
Are of my beautiful wife.
Her warms, gentle charms,
Just to be in her arms.

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