Make Me See
I was contacted and asked to write something from a soldier's perspective about life during and after war. This is one of the poems that came out during that process
In my dreams that burn on every night
they let themselves in like a thief stealing my peace.
Lying on their backs beside me
they take my hands
trying to make me see what I've done to them.
With eyes still closed the desert wind runs over me.
I can't open my eyes,
I don't know if they're still there
The men, the women, the child their hands still hold onto me.
Take me home from this
they won't understand but at least I can try to be free.
Take me home from this
let the hand that holds mine be someone that believes in me.
It's another dream, one like every night
the fires burn, the blood runs down the street
They're standing next to me
trying to lift me to
take me
then they can show me
what I've done to them.
Trying to make me see.
I wake and cross the line
I walk by myself
down the bullet ridden road.
A hand takes mine
the child leads me
she takes me to the flowers
the ones remembering when she lived
my skin starts to burn as her tears tear into my skin.
She’s holding onto me
it’s tearing me down.
She’s holding onto me
it’s starting to make me see
Take me home from this
take me somewhere new
Take me home from this
I don't have enough tears to cleanse me of the things I did