The Battle

I wonder if I’ll ever learn

to walk in peace and not to burn?

My life is one defensive shield;

I hold my ground – I cannot yield.

My life was fear – my younger days;

a boy who’s meant for ‘warrior ways’.

My elders had all fought ‘the war’;

old warriors – they knew the score.

I’d fight and die at country’s need,

in the midst of some heroic deed.

At seventeen I’d go to war

but they wanted me to grow some more.

At twenty, when my call-up came

the Hippy world had changed my game.

The Mushies helped my mind enquire;

it made no sense that burning fire.

But still, inside, the boy I’d been

held to my heart and made me keen

to battle on ‘gainst imagined foes;

the only way that young heart knows.

An old bloke now, but it’s still there;

‘the battler’ makes it hard to care.

Deep inside I still fight a war

against that bloke I am no more.

My battle now is to be free

from that bloke I once called “Me”.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
This entry was posted in Life, Love, Mental Health, Peace, Spirit. Bookmark the permalink.

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