In my psyche
that rotten hollow
within my soul
beyond her grasp
the torrent lies in wait.
Ask me once my dear
if you can see
the horror hidden
behind these orbs of deception.
Ask me again:
the words falling
from your lips
as digits upon the piano's keys
and I will deceive
my own beating heart.
I see them
carry in our dead,
the son's and fathers
of my generation
of war.
Yet my core shivers
at the many wounded
and dead
of mind
who will fill our offices
in need of some pharmacologic
elixir
of amnesia.
Our dead may forget
the pain and sadness,
yet our healers will
remember
all that ails and
aches in their minds
for eternity.
