Screams that break the night 
Feet exploding in rhythmic time, 
pumping hard to escape. 
He wakes up ,feeling  four years old again. 
My husband’s nightmares, my second hand war.
 I can only hold him tight 
so he doesn’t feel so scared, 
While he gathers his bearings.
Holding him until his heart 
slows to a steady beat again. 

To be four years old, running , running
carried under a grandmothers arms.
Only to lie still trying not to sob,
Don’t breath, don’t make a sound.
Machete blades pierce flesh ,
heads broke open and drying in the hot July sun. 
Images forever emblazoned on his heart and mind.

Seventy five years the scenes still play in his head ,
Seventy five years has dimmed his waking memory,
Seventy five years has awaken his night sleep. 
War never leaves , war takes no winners.
There is only refuge, escape, hunger,
and a lifetime of trying to erase the memories.