Trodden.
Shot at.
Lived in.
Lost.
The land that was fought over, beaten.
Yet still showing signs of life.
Hiding away for what feels like a decade
From the noise and battles of the brave men.
My physicality hurts as the war takes its toll,
But my feelings hurt mentally from the war that has been being fought for ages.
My roots hurt and so does my head.
Locked inside of hell and yet not any let-up.
When the fighting is over I want to regrow.
Regrow and redevelop who i am and what i can do.
I want to grow flowers to remember the dead
And something to remember me after the end.
Trodden.
Beaten.
Lost.
Remembered.
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Poetry
PoetryPoetry by James Matthews includes all his best poems plus special previews of his new works
