Battle-beaten, bleeding, I walk into another war. Pacifist of head, crusader of heart, the first round of volleys are firing within me before the first blare of the trumpet’s call.
Wounded, yet still mentally struggling pros against cons in some lost strategy of action, forgetting I’d already raised the white flag in that fight. Forgetting I’d already lost. Turning around to go back to the homeland, eyes only held open by the horizon in sight, I take one step and another, but Lord how it’s hard. The mind clicking like a slideshow run by a maniac. The ground whispering lullabies to lure me into its bed. The heart slowly thumping oil to the gears of the body. Reluctant, I head into the now audible roar.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology