Colin F. Jones


It all begins in youth; each pain we feel
When we knew not that our wounds would not heal.
Back when we thought we were the very best,
Ready to fight and meet with any test.
Back then we were; but now we are not young,
Age shows each scar where we were stung.
But those deep wounds that never showed up then
Still hide inside the soul’s mortal stem.
How can they know, when we know not ourselves,
Why such ill torture in our memory dwells.
They watch us suffer but can’t understand,
That we suffer more beneath their caring hand;
That all we want to do sometimes is die,
Yet still we cannot tell our loved ones why.