Ptsd
PTSD
My nightmares are violent;
rifle jammed frustratingly dead,
broken stock useless as a club,
only a k-bar knife and free hand
reaching for those darting figures
leaping over my fighting hole.
The night terrors are far worse;
bolting upright out of deep sleep
screaming from hidden memories,
violence lost in the awakening,
these trauma never remembered
hidden so very deep in my psych.
My days and nights span endlessly
while sitting alone in an empty room,
sightless but seeing forty years ago,
no longer living in the relevant present
the past becomes my personal quagmire;
a Hell beyond address never resolved.
Coping with a forced duality of life
accomplishments become meaningless,
every success is infused with doubt,
past decisions are seen in darkness
and the future unnecessary unwanted,
the value of my life feels wasted.
Old thoughts and desires surface,
my death in Vietnam more merciful.
I lived while more deserving men died
those who may have avoided a faulty life
avoiding a repressed and cloistered mind;
how these feelings echo among Veterans.
Copyright © Jw Nugent | Year Posted 2018
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