After the Nightmare

In the morning while his faith is weak one when the moon has gone, he declares upon the rising of the perpetual sun in the safety of the light at this time, he still loves the best this place, of birdsong surely blest. His need to wander the balmy moor turn his life around, and unwind if only to feel life’s reflection of an era, a youth and life of faith in happiness, sadness or pain which whatever plagues him this day. Everyday, he caresses the rugged cross that still hangs around his neck, one that consoled him along many a fiery road deep in mud and bodies along the trench, where once, he had fought the good fight for lasting peace. Yet still! So many questions locked within an enquiring mind, that refuse to languish on meaningful lips while here now so much strife so much hate, so much fear, so, the dream has no reason to end. One tries so hard to lose it in maturity, but age has now saturated and every night, the search goes on within this onward human metamorphosis, where before many have ridden life’s carousel, waiting for the ultimate time to step off. Yet when that time befalls him either in sheer exuberance, or shadows deep, he’ll need all his strength and endurance, to guide him over ill at ease, prejudiced waters, to the promise land! © Harry J Horsman 2022