The Urban Battlefield
(The final utterance and testament
of a fallen comrade. Belfast 1979)
He
never knew
till he laid there naked.
(A withering heap of travesty.)
How blue the sky
how green the grass,
each tiny blade reminiscent
of a gentle touch from a bygone age.
Each wound on fire,
yet a confound complement
to a burning passion
of a love he was about
to leave behind.
He
saw formidable clouds
begin to threaten
the moment,
yet gently
refreshing droplets
tantalize the mood,
blend with a body
and it’s blood, before
washing a mind
free of it’s pain
forever!
© Harry J Horsman 1994
Copyright © Harry Horsman | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment