ocular rewritten

Tw war I could taste the metallic red sting of blood in my mouth. The red carnage and the blinding white flashes still shine in my eyes. The colors clash together, angry and fierce, the lines are jagged and rough, fighting each other the way that we humans have been fighting each other. But it's been a week since we drove out the invaders, the carnage of war is gone and we've all been trying to rebuild, but the sky is still black with smoke blocking out the sun and the ground is still gray with the ashes and rubble of our homes. So many of my friends and family are dead, their deaths have sent my heart deep into a black void, and I do not think that light will ever reach it. We are still struggling to rebuild and in a way I didn't want to at first, after all I had been through I just wanted to close my eyes and see that soft gray behind my eyelids, but I do not know how to do that anymore. We aren't fighting but the colors still fight behind my eyelids whenever I try to sleep. But my son has woken up, I had thought he would not survive his injuries, but he did and it shines a little yellow light. The darkness in me wants to consume it, the darkness and the chaos cannot accept that their is something soft can exist in a world like this. But I love that soft light and I sit with him in the crowded hospital whenever I can, and I hold onto that yellow light and pray that he will be okay and that he will forgive me.
“How is he doing?” I ask the doctor as she checks his vitals. The machines they have are not the best, this is because we are still recovering and so many of our things were destroyed, but our doctors have not given up hope as I nearly had and for this I feel like maybe I should hug her but thst yellow hasn't gotten rid of enough of the black just yet, I am not yet able to let hope or happiness or gratitude shine through that crushing suffocating black. The yellow hope lays there just a pinprick. I can not make it bigger yet. She tells me that he is doing well and can come home with me soon. But the yellow doesn't get bigger than a thumbprint on my heart until one week later when I carried him into our home, because despite what he had been through he was laughing and it spilled out of him bubbly and bright. The black is no longer suffocating me, and though I still see the flashing colors on occasion, they are not overwhelming me constantly. I cannot leave behind that carnage completely but time has passed our building rise into a clear blue sky the sun is shining and the grass is green once more