It’s been too long since last I wrote
Of happy days; of blood or smoke.
I can’t recall the day or time
The year or month I last made rhyme.
My mind has dulled, my tongue has dried,
My brain has shriveled, my wit has died.
And now I’m back to write again
If only I could still pretend
That nothing’s changed in these long years;
I haven’t struggled or cried out tears
Of fear and grief, at wars in life,
That every day cause me new strife.
But who can say what happens now
That times have changed and furrow the brow.
I’m not the one I used to be.
I’m not the one I hoped to see.
But maybe it’s alright to say
That all’s not well; I’m not okay.
For maybe this was meant to be
A way for me to set ‘me’ free.
And so in words I might confide
In hopes that it might be my guide,
And place within this tired soul
A will to live and greater goal.