the long good bye part one
You tap me on the shoulder and ask whose staff I'm on,
Startled I try to tell you but see that you have gone
Down the path of memory to a place of no-recall
Where I'll no longer find you and you won't see me at all:
Only a booted stranger you've never met before
And a blur of marching soldiers, Marching into war.
I set the cup down slowly, the broth i've made for you,
I draw the curtains slowly to hide those scenes from view,
But in the mirror darkly that stands beside your bed
Your gaze picks out the shadows of the men that you once lead.
You turn to me in wonder and ask where they have gone, I tell you they are marching,
On down to Avignon.
I know not what I'm saying, I blurt platitudes and lies,
I want to stop your memories before they turn to cries
Of dying men and horses, exploding mortar shells,
The mud and blood of warfare, that very special hell
Of living in the trenches when you were twenty-five
And saw your generation
Half crucified alive.
Copyright © Carrick Townsend | Year Posted 2020
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment