I’m not usually given to poetry, but sometimes the story just wants what it wants. This is how it came out today. Let me know what you think.


Shots pop from all around
Exploding chunks of turf near where I stand
Bullet casings that turn to mortar shells

I dodge and take cover from where I think the enemy is positioned

But then, a grenade to the gut
Bounced off my shelter from somewhere behind
Stunned, I whirl
And blink

Et tu, Brute? Et tu?

Were you the lone sniper all along?

No, it seems there are others
Just as hidden as you
They blast away, even as your grenade shreds my insides,
Rocking the earth with violent spasms

Until my feet have no ground to hold

You had drawn the enemy lines long ago
It seems
And I was on the other side
But did not know it

Mea culpa.
But why?

Now, as I fall
Limp and useless
In agony
Into the void
You despise me for bleeding
And crying

It is strange to see so clearly now

White hot pain
Blinding, searing
Destroying utterly

What was is no more

7 thoughts on “D-day

  1. Reblogged this on The Mouse's Soapbox and commented:

    I posted this a year ago, today. I know I’ve only published a handful of posts in the interim; my life is very different now than it was then. I’ve been working hard at going forward, changing. And I’ve progressed — sometimes by choice, sometimes because it’s been thrust upon me. (You just can’t hide from LIFE!)

    But I can’t forget. I wish I could, but all I can do is try to heal, bide my time in a safe place until the wounds seal over. Sometimes, though, there’s nowhere safe. Sometimes it’s right there in front of me, and I have no choice but to face it. Like today, especially today, the two-year anniversary of my own, personal “D-day.”

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