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
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