Living is my battle.
The war is for my mind.
I live a stalemate.
I am a desolate wasteland.
No-man's land.
Ground is taken then lost, taken again then lost again.
I have grown weary of living this way.
I have been wounded too many times.
I have lost too much.
I have given up too much.
Retreat is always my cry.
There is no victory foreseen.
I am in the middle of a minefield.
Concussions are felt all around me.
Crimson tears stream down my face.
I wipe them away with a bloodied hand.
Looks like no end is in sight.
I know that I am never going back home.
As another charge is set upon me.
I must fight with all I have.
I do not want to give up or even give in.
I am not ready to die, not just yet.
So I stand and fight on.
As wounded as I am.
I will stand my ground.
I will protect it even to the very end.
I can see the white's of my enemy's eyes.
It's like staring into a mirror.
Maybe because I am.
You see, I am my own worst enemy.
I continue to live a stalemate.
With each side unwilling to surrender.


No comments:

Post a Comment

I'd love to know what you think of this poem.