Dave Bonta's short poem seems to describe what happens to a mind shut in with disturbing images. It opens with "war visions" that "devour us," and the verb makes them feel hungry and unstoppable, as if the speaker can't look away from them.
The middle stanzas shrink the world to a single room. Being "alone in a room / for days" suggests isolation, and the idea of something "brewing / like an old religion" gives the mood a strange, simmering intensity. Fear or obsession seems to grow in private, like a belief nobody questions. Then comes the odd line that "people cannot hold / things in their hands," which hints at helplessness: nothing feels solid or within anyone's control.
The ending is the bleakest part. The speaker seems to be left with "the ruin of / a mind of a child / once more." The title, "Childish," fits this: the mind goes back to a frightened, powerless state. The overall mood is anxious, claustrophobic, and quietly desperate.