A poem I wrote a little while ago, want my poems, my thoughts in chonological order, as I am pedantic like this. About the fight going on inside you own head. I had feelings, strong feelings, I knew they were bad, knew they wouldn’t be welcome, so I wrote this thinking of the fight of feeling vs. suppressing the feelings.
The Battle within.
The clash of forces,
The war within me,
Two sides, tearing me apart.
Thoughts like the piercing shrapnel,
Like the unexploded mine in hiding.
The thunderous laughs of mortar-fire
Conflicting orders to go ‘over the edge’,
Only ending in death or on-going suffering.
What will be left when the fighting stops?
If the fighting stops?
Collateral damage too great,
Destruction complete, in its totality.
A barren wasteland remains.
The wasteland of the mind after the war.