»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #32
»
To The Warrior Old At Thirty-Two
| Open Poetry #32 |
|
To The Warrior Old At Thirty-Two |
|
|
icebox Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 4383in the shadows 
|
You rode your tall horse proudly as you trotted off to war, a backward glance, the whimsy, the happenstance of cheering crowds and music, blinded you to fraying edges of the banners on display placed with full intent to seduce you into thinking they'd been hung only for you, set at every doorway of your passing, and in every doorway quiet eyes measured polished armor old and new; smiles flashed at the tunic a few had sewn just for you with all the clothe we'd been allowed. Did you ever come to realize they are always made just long enough to be a shroud? ...and the villagers waved and cheered, as if they knew your name, wished you well, urged you on to seek your glory and in so doing build upon the village fame; now I see your horse is old, going lame tired of the road and all the battles won or lost. It seems to know behind weary nervous eyes the cost always was the same. Your armor's not as shiny, there are dents and rust and ragged holes; your lance has been re-tipped but doesn't look as sound as when you left; you've kept your blade and dagger, though you've lost your morning star; your tunic has been ripped many times, sometimes mended showing care sometimes carelessness; clearly it has traveled far, seams stretching now as if reaching for the ground. What strikes me though is the face, which I used to know and recall as being bright, is not the shining visage lusting for the fight; it is old beyond its years, scarred by blade and tracked by tears, and the eyes behind which flicker memories shreds from wretched fantasies of grand conquest turned to dreams of petty victories decayed to hopes for sheer survival which in turn built harsher dreams filled with fears of falling hard on hopeless ground, night terrors of no allies around to bind your wounds; the eyes, which had been clear and cold when you first set out to roam, have in them a sad bewildered look dimming even now with the understanding you are not being welcomed home. ©2004 by icebox [This message has been edited by icebox (06-05-2004 06:34 PM).] |
||
| © Copyright 2004 icebox - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
icebox This is the worst scar of battle....so well written ...the meaning brought home with such clear poignancy. Thank you.  |
||
|
passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
dang  |
||
|
Seymour Tabin Member Empyrean
since 1999-07-07
Posts 31720Tamarac Fla |
icebox Not surprised, home is a moving target. Good write. |
||
|
iliana Member Patricius
since 2003-12-05
Posts 13434USA |
Oh, the glories of war, what propoganda so many fed, when, in truth, war is hell, forged of blood, sweat and death. Even the Earth shakes with its horrors unspeakable. And you, my friend, aged so young, remind us of this well. |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
