Fuond Poem: Back to Nam

War is always longer than itself.
When you’re inside,
You lose sense of the definite.
There is no clarity.
Everything swirls.
Truth and deception
Intermingle, forming
A certainty, seemingly as far from truth
As home.

Everything talks.
Sanity waxes and wanes
In a lunar fashion.
The sound of silence terrifies.
Shooting itself in foot,
The mind fills the acoustic void.
Nam-it truly talks.

Imagination was a killer;
Imagination is still the killer.
Remembering makes it now;
Remembering drafts me back.
Back to Nam.
Stories are for eternity.
Making grief just as long.