I wasn’t there at the docks

of Merseyside – it was Dad

decked out in fireman’s garb.


His mate perished under an

imploding wall - Dad stored

images in his mind and when


demons came he took it out

on us – although he never

cussed – just acted strange  - 


we kept profiles low until his

ghosts had flown, rearranging

his mind, foregoing fieriness




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Fri 10th Jul 2020 11:54

Abdul, Isobel, Jennifer, MC, Po, Stephen, Tom, Thank you all very much for the likes and supportive comments. Appreciated. P. 👍

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Abdul Ahmad

Thu 9th Jul 2020 10:24

This poem beautifully describes how the behaviour of service men witnessing tragedy in the course of carrying out their duty to keep us safe alters and affects those who live with them.

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Thu 9th Jul 2020 10:15

Great writing P. "until his ghosts had flown" is a fantastically pleasing phrase.

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M.C. Newberry

Thu 9th Jul 2020 01:17

The personal horror of living with PTSD is captured in these few lines.

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