one thought here, another one there; ten more are on the way

 

the trenches are deep, filled with blood, when you bled so much that day

 

the attacks are precise as if known before

the enemy slithers near the door

 

he seeks to destroy and to kill

with whatever can give him his fill

 

no thought of who you are or what you could be

it’s of no import nor is it about me

 

fills your heart and your head

making you seek to be but dead

 

if people would only see

the battle that separates you and me

 

they’d know we’re all the same.

filled with emotion, it’s not a game

 

they’d see me dying a very slow death

wishing much more for my very last breath

donna marie