In the dawn
he arises to ask,
“who is this man
reflected in glass?”
Within the jungles shadow
steps his lonely soul
as he searches the sun
through his sepulchral hole.
Friend to few
enemy to some
he mistrusts love
devotes to no one.
Concealing from all
especially, from he
sometimes he stares
as if to see-
where he was
who he is
does it matter
what this day gives?
Like shrapnel scars
dull pain drives
he covers his existence
between truth and lies.
Daring the executer
he lives on edge
his voids departure
or let him live.
In the dusk
he passes the mirror
his image reversed
he does not peer
he subsides beyond the glass
undefined
between present and past.
To an unknown force
fatigue draws sleep
arms outstretch in supplication
for his release
and still he awakens
to the morning light
hoping peace will find him
before the Cimmerian night.
Written about a friend who is a Vietnam Vet and suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.
Originally Posted On Site: 2007-12-30 09:15:13
Last Login: 12.01.08
Visits as of 12-12-07: 160
