instructions for the unwounded

After the battle, the wounding, the harm;

Do not expect all will be normal, rosy, decent.

We wounded carry within us, invisible bombs,

Buried along the roadsides of our souls.

When tripped, these explosives make short work of peace;

Tearing through gardens we have tended;

Ripping apart all our hard work.

What you need to know,

faithful friend of the wounded,

Is that these IED’s will look like self-destruction.

You will be concerned, worried, frustrated.

You will feel helpless and judgmental.

It’s ok. After the explosions cease,

We will rebuild.

We will tend new gardens.

And we will need friends who cared,

Even though they didn’t understand.