Wars never fought.

A gentle mist that sits upon
Fallen stories drenched in blood
Burdens filled with guilt and shame
And all that quiet rage.

Her hair shines
And so does her spirit
Though she seems not to know it
Most days.

The heart gets beaten and depressed
The worries and the sickness weigh
And all the heartache fills the world
At least what you can see.

When she speaks

I am stilled.

As if caught
in some web
and I cannot move
at the sound
of her lovely voice.

They locked up better men
and left me out and free
They took the best that I had given
And threw it out with shit.

I do not see the light sometimes
The darkness fills me far too much
And I cannot take all this feeling
Sobriety is hard.

When she steps into a room
My mind goes blank with…