PTSD

I hear the buzz of starlings swarm and cloud the sky in blackening drear.  Their fearful clattering in harm, their murmurations shriek and warn my empty house cloaked in fear.

Each day the thousands pale and fail. They die like shredded shrouds tear and curtain my mind’s wail while plagues of garbled voices rail my empty house cloaked in fear.

Wars uncivil, terror flights, fists uplifting in despair, the urge to love succumbs to fight the right with words, the wrong with might, my empty house cloaked in fear.

It’s chattering of starlings crazed.  A man goes down as truncheons rear in blood and bones and faces dazed.  The bees buzz and sting unphased, my empty house cloaked in fear.

Steve Gerson writes poetry and flash about life’s dissonance and dynamism. He’s proud to have published in Panoplyzine, Route 7, Poets Reading the News, Crack the Spine, Montana Mouthful, the Decadent Review, Indolent, Rainbow Poems, Snapdragon, The Underwood Press, Wingless Dreamer, Gemini Ink, The Dillydoun Review, In Parentheses, and more.