Old man, peters hung himself today
He’d  Once been a powerhouse 
back in his day

 A force  to be reckoned with 
The old timers would say
But what they didn’t know
He really wasn’t ok

A saving force
Walking thru the gate 
Human people hands gribed on the wire 
Images he could never escape 

Images that made him 
nauseous and sick 
Corpses laid out to be hauled 
Surreal not  real
Agony of buckenwald


when he came home 
he just tried to work. 
It was at night 
when he’d uncork

 Drank readily to 
to fight back the pain 
Got  drunk always
They’d find  him in gutters laid out in the rain 

 how does one live 
when they can’t escape whats been done
That’s why old man Peters took his life 
 with a rope and not a gun 

They found a note
Tucked  away in a book
Told his family 
Where to look

Look out by the old oak tree
When you get there 
Touch the tree and
Remember me


On the tree cut into its wood
Inscribed crudely 
Rope of life
No more pretending and no more lies


WB KSG 

Of the agony of PTSD
It’s got a hold on me
It manifests in ways I like not
Makes me hide and feel shunned

Take no pity
And feel no remorse
Count your lucky stars you too
Aren’t cursed 

wb ksg