In my dreams, you still greet me.
“I love you, wild boy”
I awake in a sweat knowing it was only a devil’s ploy.

As I gaze and begin to cry,
flashes of you race through my mind.
Continue asking God for help, but no one ever replies.

For I know what lies ahead,
another night of dreaming “I love you” in my bed.
The PTSD you gave is that of four wars fought,
All good things come to an end, or at least that’s what I was taught.
© All Rights Reserved