Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Violence

Violence
(The Great War Soldier)
.
Unfeelingly I grasp my hands around his head
I jerk them in a twisting motion –
His neck crackles like a dried up leaf.

That leaf which grew in summer heat
Was born in springtime’s rainy haze
But fell to earth as Autumn waned
To be covered in remorseless cold.

Cold, that I, brought forth to be
As I, the reaper chose his fate
So like Death himself, I am
Detached and feared above all else.

All else is just another phrase to me
I knew, held it, loved it once
Before this life,
Another time.

Time, now turning me to diamond
Where I’ll outlast the years
Beautiful, mysterious
Cold, morose and lifeless.
May he rest in peace.

2 comments:

  1. Ben, I really like this poem.

    I think this your style's being shaped in wonderful ways.

    ReplyDelete

You've found your way inside my head and now there's no way out!