1
there is war in my head —
no romanticized
valorous triumph
just terror and violence
and no place to go home to,
nowhere to rest my head;
within the noise
I search for words
to carve meaning
from darkness
but i am lost,
wearied by the night
2
My thoughts are goblins,
my thoughts are gorgeous,
and sometimes they go
where I cannot follow,
shrouded in a language
hidden from me —
3
the past is cool rain
in which children play,
the present a fog
that disorientates
to a fictional future,
darkly unknown
or unreal till the story
we write is our own
Nicely written, Conner. Well done!
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Thank you so much, Jim — I appreciate your kind words and the time it took to share them.
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