the world
turns blue
through my
wind shield
on this
snow less
morning I
drive past
bare trees
looking like
Ohio wood
tip matches
and if
today I
can find
the will
the flame
a little
of what’s
left over
after 50
years and
a war
I can’t
get past
with its
nightmares
and ghosts
and painful
memories
and PTSD
if there
is any
of the
old me
left somewhere
inside my
head then
I will
light that
match and
laugh as
I watch
everything
burn to
the ground
because sometimes
you need
to scorch
the field
before anything
new will
grow.
