The War at Home


I can sense the pressure, hear the slamming door
The little boy in me is scared, alone
My strength and age lie confused, forgotten
As I weather the storm of the war at home.

How many times can something break
And expect to heal without a scar?
Soon the scars are all anyone can see
And we’re left wondering who we are.

They say time heals, but that’s a lie.
Time’s no better than the scars that numb us
From the past and protect us from the future
And smother our young hopes in fears so numerous.

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