.
.
.
It’s hardest when it’s quiet—
when there’s nothing left
to occupy my tired mind.
After the day has taken its toll,
and the bell has rung its last ’til ’morn,
I lie awake.
Struggling.
Fighting.
Failing.
Falling.
Dying.
Again.
Eventually...
rising.
The morning bell tolls—
another chance to heal,
another chance to wound.
I will try.
I will fall.
I will rise.
Again.
Until that final day,
when the bell tolls for me.
.
.
.
I hope this piece stirs thought or emotion- and reminds you of something. Best of luck in your war, reader.