In the passenger seat,
Taking the turns
High up in the French Alps
A random conversation started
Goodness knows how.
Point blank shot to the forehead
My grandmother dead.
A thousand soldiers
Escorted us out
Down to the forest
To a makeshift camp
Two weeks to scavenge
Uncertainty, fear
Volunteered in the militia
Killed my fair share.
No wonder he has nightmares
Every single night of the year.
Psychological help, no.
PTSD to be sure
Violent tendencies too.
Surrounded by love
Messes that up too
Chaos, pain, confusion
He’s a stubborn, pig-headed mule.
Kerry Bridges
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Author:
Kerry (
Offline) - Published: November 12th, 2024 23:52
- Comment from author about the poem: A random road trip turned into a horrific recounting of traumatic events. The impact could be potentially alleviated by professional help but he’s not interested in going down that route.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments2
Oh Kerry I too have known such guys... too tough to need help, they suffer and put those around them in a no-win fog of not being able to say what needs saying. You captured it perfectly:
Surrounded by love
Messes that up too
Thank you. It’s exactly that! Hands are tied.
Trauma and violence both covered in this poem. What is to be done when the one who needs help doesn’t want it?
Exactly! I suppose…just be there?! But for how long? To what impact on oneself?
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