Lou J. Klaiber

PTSD

Another night
of old terrors
… and misty dreaming.

The Raven of night upon my shoulder
speaking of all the life that has died
and of all the death that has been lived.

Where have you gone,
my Brothers?

Why am I so alone in my return
from where none can ever
return?

I no longer weep for myself.
I weep for all the World.

When I close my eyes
I see more clearly.

In silence
there is a vast echo
of gunfire
and war
… screaming.

How can I be here
and mostly… always
there?

A clown with many pockets…
A painted smile.

Hurling my emptiness
into the incredible silence

of a dark
and endless night.

Author’s Note: For Paul S… Combat Medic