The Writers Voice
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The war is over and you walk away battered and scarred,
Your very soul in pieces,
You realize that no one understands,
No one knew,
There is no one to turn to but yourself.
Even your sense of who you are seems lost,
Just out of reach.
Yet you go on,
You live a day at a time,
Maybe itís not living at all,
Itís just surviving.
This doesnít matter,
Life is precious
Each day promises the hope of a better day,
You keep telling yourself this,
Until you finally believe it.
After all , what choice do you have ?
Some will say you have other choices,
You could just lie down and die,
But then they donít truly understand,
They have never walked the thousands of miles you have,
They speak from experience,
And their denial is their only tool for coping.
My favorite piece of advice,
Iíve heard it so many times,
Itís when people say Move on,
Just move on and get on with it, Move on and forget.
I doubt they could follow their own advice,
If they found themselves were I am
No amount of moving on and trying to forget works,
How can it work, when the vaults of the mind are full to overflowing?
When memories haunt and leave scars on the soul,
Scars that run deep like rivers to the heart,
Flooded rivers threatening to break free,
Embankments ready to burst.
The mind was not designed or engineered to forget
Not at least until we reach the end of our lives,
Close to death we forget
Then forgetting brings peace
So living means remembering
Making peace and learning lessons
Embracing all we experience, good and bad
Then releasing ourselves as we create new memories
Find new joy and create our own peace.
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