How can hands with broken bones,
Lift up fallen soldiers, as we escape air raids?
With no compass or stars, how do you sail home?
Will hope be enough, or will cold darkness replace the warmth,
Of the heart that once loved?
One stitch too many, and the seams crumple and fall loose,
When you begin to heal, and the pain tears through like scissors through cloth,
You feel the stabs from the needles of memory,
As they pierce your consciousness,
And the thimble of happiness does little to keep them at bay.