This is a work about a prayer offered to God.
|Oh, LORD, I cannot write.
The words have gone from me.
All that remains is the sight of Blood,
Waking, sleeping, always before me,
Because I have done my Duty in War,
And because I have been
The Staff Sergeant. I can no longer Cry,
LORD, and I cannot, for certain, Weep.
It has all gone from me, Master,
For the Guilt has taken my Soul.
One Soul is as Another to You, God -
I have Slain those You have called Precious
In Your Sight. They were Perhaps more Precious
To You, Almighty, than I Myself am. Now they
Have Suffered Death at my Hand, and the
Blood still Cries out to me Day and Night -
What would You have me Do, LORD?
I did my Duty. War was my Duty, and
I Volunteered for it. There was no Draft,
No Compulsory Measure taken to Force me
To Kill, except the Threatening actions of a Few,
Yet they were Precious to You just the same.
I Feel the Numbness - the Death of my Soul -
It is called by us Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
I am on Guard always, God, and Distressed at Shadows
Passing. I cannot Feel, yet the Anger Destroys my
Soul Constantly and without Reprieve. My Sleep -
What Sleep? - is Interrupted always by Nightmares
And I shall Never be Safe again. I Contemplate
Ending my Own Life, LORD, in Your Service,
To Prevent further Evil on my Part, to seek Forgiveness,
For what can Ever Atone for what I have Done?