Wounded Sigh
A crumbling cabin, a jungle deep,
An old soldier trudging by,
Imagining he heard, in the breeze,
A ghostly, wounded sigh.
This elder sat 'neath a mangrove
To ease his creaking bones,
His uneasy mind accompanied
By the wind's eerie moans.
The groans metamorphosed to words,
As mournfully they spoke
About an injury so grave,
And a heart and soul, which broke.
"A strong youth, fastest in my school,
Brimming with hope and fun,
I couldn't outrun a speeding bullet,
Blasted from a cruel gun.
Stripped of hope, left a broken cripple,
Of no use to anyone,
I couldn't envision a future -
A day past twenty-one.
It wasn't just a body blow,
But one to my emotions,
As a gap 'tween me and my mates
Grew as vast as oceans.
All the love I had to offer,
Were stained with weakness, and pain,
So, I was nothing more than a
Miserable ball and chain.
I slipped into the dark jungle,
All hidden and remote,
Where nobody would need to hear
Cries issued from my throat.
My cabin had enough space for
One table and one chair.
It was a blessed relief to know,
No one could find me there."
The glum words urged the drifter's heart
And drew him to the hut.
The image in the table's chair
Then, punched him in the gut.
The old man's mournful, decaying face
Stopped and froze him in place.
The grim, unsettling vision was
His own crestfallen face.
Copyright ©
David Crandall
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