Colin F. Jones


~ 1 ~

Trauma from the past might purpose serve
in future days those who don’t deserve,
the compensation measured out to men,
who braved the battles through the sward and fen
yet who can say what trauma man conceals,
or in what way his fear and pain reveals
the impact war has had upon his mind,
that great debate has for it’s price defined.
Yet though tis in some way thought as unique,
by veteran soldiers who compensation seek,
Post traumatic stress is a common state,
to which some mothers giving birth relate,
and thousands more who from the racists gun,
faced their trauma until Liberty was won.

~ 2 ~

What of those folk who never wore the green,
and wear no medals to show where they have been,
who braved the bombs that shattered homes and streets,
whose backs are scarred from the whips repeats.
Who saw their children murdered and defiled,
who saw the horror in the eyes of child.
Who saw their loved ones ravished by the fires,
and laid to rest butchered forms on biers.
Ah some may well have heard the bullets fly,
but all of us will see a brother die,
and who most loves yet the most may grieve,
for one who gives doth such pain receive…
to compare thy autumn to a winter’s day,
will not from spring reveal the summer’s way.

~ 3 ~

Greater is God’s wisdom than mine will ever be,
I who through tormented eyes do see,
the bloodied land scarred by you and me,
who suffer all the agonies of being free.
Are we not punished by our violent way;
did we not kill or cause vile disarray?
We can’t be innocent of what we chose to do,
thus we suffer the ache that lives in me and you.
To some it’s foremost in their anxious thoughts,
in others deep from where their soul imports,
the inner rage oft to the outer fringe,
where from our own bad dreams we from it cringe.
We can but hope that faith and trust in God,
takes not this burden beyond the mortal sod

~ 4 ~

We cannot cure ourselves of what we are,
for we’re designed by all the things we do,
every joy and every tiny scar,
makes up the portions that produces you.
We must accept and understand our lot,
for we but flesh and blood is all we’ve got,
and all our thoughts are measured by our view,
and all our feelings are absolutely true.
Confuse not your defects with your better selves,
nor better selves with what might lesser be,
for pain resides where confusion delves,
where what you find is what you want to see.
We are not perfect so how can we complain,
Tis part of us – the sorrow joy and shame.