Organisation of disorganised thoughts

Putting a thinking heart to work,
Staring at the dull ceiling of my room, imagining worlds and cartographies beyond
Thinking of battles won and wars lost
In the battlefields of Crimea, or that of Nuremberg,
The wind hits my face through the bedroom window,
Carrying messages of love, war, final goodbyes and first meetings
The letter of a dying soldier to his mother in America
The painting of a young father for his daughter in France
The final text of goodbye from inside the W.T.C
And the random key-hits of a lost soul
Pleading for a reader..