Buenos Aries- Miami

There it is
The question that hides
In the brittle folds of my life
How the dead speak to me
Steer my armor apart, lift my shroud of anesthesia
Behind the fire wall of survival
Beyond the cold professional eyes
The anger/fear/cruelty/scars/dreams remain
Abandoned like a town that neither side needs
In a war that no one will win

As I return, the language seems slow
Offensive and strong
In the way…
Ill wait.