We were soldiers then
When the planes started crashing
I saw the second one hit
We were in the barracks
It was on TV.
You’ve long since taken your own life
With a shotgun
Brains everywhere I’d imagine.
I ran into someone
Said his wife slept with you
Said he was glad you fucking killed yourself.
I have no idea if that is true–
if you slept with her,
or if he was glad.
We all thought we would go somewhere
but where do you go
when it’s not a government?
Who do you kill?
I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you the way you’d hoped.
I wish I could make it better
But you done died son–
ain’t shit I can do now.
I don’t really like
To remember
But I don’t have much of a choice
But we were soldiers then,
And I won’t forget.
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God, I really felt this. Wonderful. Thank you.
Be well.
Pretty raw, searing heart and soul.
No, we should NEVER forget–and we SHOULD always remember that we have the power NOW to change the world, one heart at a time, starting with ourselves!
To have your own heart changed for good is better than peace on earth.
There’s something very truly wrenching about what I presume is poetry based on fact and lived through experience…especially when it is as undisguised as yours….there is much bravery needed in bearing the soul…
The aftermath of a thing has many many branches… they often bring us places we never thought we would see.