Motif of War:

I got drafted.

My number was called with the pull of a trigger.

My number:

09/29/2017

 

I didn’t know what to do at first.

I could run,

I could hide,

or I could fight.

 

When I arrived to check in

I was greeted with sad smiles.

 A box of tissues what shoved into my hands like a rifle.

They didn’t give me any bullets.

 

My battleground:

A simple hallway.

My mission:

Unclear.

 

I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

Neither did they.

You did,

or at least you did a really good job pretending.

 

 

 

I got drafted.

This was my fight.

My mission.

Only, you enlisted and you fought beside me.

 

Together we carried the weight.

Together we asked questions and found answers.

Together we determined the enemy,

and together we took them out.

 

I saw a journal as my rifle.

I saw words as my bullets.

I saw letters as my grenades.

I saw footsteps as my victories.

 

You saw my journal.

Read my words.

Opened my letters.

Encouraged my footsteps.

 

I got drafted.

My number was called with the pull of a trigger.

My number:

Meaningless.

-thank you