Battle

Knife sharp nerves, veiled in silk Stretch and strain to break through This barricade of skin To reach out across the charged chasm, To touch you where you stand, Shadow-drenched and whisper-close, To cradle you in love’s aeolian embrace. But Fear, the captain of my soul, Commands the battlements before which My desires lie in legion, Gore besmirched and dying. My nerves, lost and defeated, have retreated, Snail-like into their familiar shell. Years pass in an irretrievable moment. © Barry Freeman – 22nd April 2002