In My Inner Room

In My Inner Room

Sitting by my window like I always do,

I see a different world, a more disconcerting view.

Rather than melancholy scenes one right after another,

I seek to understand the world lying under this cover.

Through the mist and rain into which my mind ventures,

Vapors and spirits, wispy imagines, even ghosts to pursue.

They clamor around me upon the waves of time,

Reaching out to touch me in ways not so kind.

I watched them swaying this way and that,

Dressed in flowing gowns, sweaters, and hats.

We’re from another time some have often said,

They came mangled, wounded, even images that bled.

War-torn soldiers men and women they were,

Memories of conflicts appear all in a blur.

They gave themselves for us or that’s what we’re told,

But the record within me speaks of different episodes.

Sold into bondage from every nation on earth,

War-weary heroes all seeking to preserve their worth.

From battlefields swollen with blood far and near,

The sacrifice they surrendered for others is not so very clear.

Who were they fighting for is the answer I seek,

And think of them day after day, week after week.

Their offering was accepted without even a word,

It was for many people, kindred and kind,

Yet the story is still within me yearning to unwind.

I watch them as they come and go,

Between the natural way up high and from below.

Each needing to expose the truth,

Of those who never fought but history rethought.

With tears seeking valleys, I watch them leave,

One by one they go not trying to deceive.

The wars they fought were in my mind within,

Archived in passages in files not made of skin.

It’s the stories that bind me to the window you see,

For there’s no tomorrow nor today, only memories for me.

Held within this room of thoughts and prayers,

With its hidden soldiers who come to me to stare.

By: Dan R. Fowler

For: Astrid