Anthony W. Pahl

DEAREST ROBIN

I read your words and gasped (just a little)
because I’ve been in a right old pickle;
so far behind in my self-imposed task
of publishing my friends’ words of art.

I’ve been thinking how useless I’ve become
because at the moment, it’s not much fun
having hundreds of thousands of unpublished words
(that make up the telling of love and hurt)
residing in folders on an electronic tool
awaiting to be published by a fool;
a mentally deficient silly old bloke
who volunteered to go for broke
when he was already broken by war
and could barely manage the life he saw.

He conned himself that he could do
anything that he set his mind to
but the reality is it now seems too much.
But it’s the tendrils of P.T.S.D. that clutch
and grab and stretch the brain
of this hurting old man that pain
has taught to ignore; to adapt to the strain
because in doing so there’s a much greater gain.

So I’ll continue to strive to add the words
that the trust of friends have conferred
upon me to present to the proud and the free
and in doing so perhaps I may learn to be me!

I’ve added “Prayer to the Troops” your index page
and I would be pleased if you would gauge
the quality of that work, and advise me please,
of any changes you think it needs.

I send you my love, my prayers, and my thanks
for your wonderful words; they have refilled my tanks.
The depression will pass – it always does,
but till then please hold my pain with a velvet glove.

Author’s Note: For Robin Amy Bass