powderkeg

nineteen years // how i fell apart

In 1942

My great grandfather left his son

And travelled to Europe

To stitch broken boys back together 

On the front line 

When he came back 

Riddled with post-traumatic stress disorder

He set a chain in motion 

Passing down a serotonin imbalance

That has lasted three generations

Science says that the trauma

Burned into his veins like a brand

Nursed by grandfather 

Repressed by my mother

Could be the kindling

Lit by the match that was you

Is it any wonder I struggle between the weight? 

fractious pieces held tentatively together 

crumbling into the ground

like an ancient roman temple

left to fester in the open air

it has been seventy-five years

since he stepped out of the sun 

to stand on the front line 

and stitch England’s lost boys together

and thirty since he died

but wound is still open, salted, stinging

an intergenerational powder keg

a condemnation of an entire familial line 

Author's Note

august 2016- I also like this one a lot, unsure about the temple metaphor??