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The Wounded Flag Bearer
| Open Poetry #37 |
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The Wounded Flag Bearer |
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Edward Grim Senior Member
since 2005-12-18
Posts 1154Greenville, South Carolina 
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The Wounded Flag Bearer The rain fermented on the sidewalk in all the seeming of a cast iron brewery, seeping into the limestone of the concrete… Peace monotonously trudged on making it hard to habit the urge with something other than anxiety and disquiet. His thoughts fell upon the olden days of the baleful yesteryears wrought with nonexistent pain and fear brought by cause. His urge to remember the war he lost was stronger than his will to forget the pain he never felt. He remembered the battlefield where his moments lost equaled the moments he had never experienced. He was shot down by a phantom blow that jumped him from behind a lone pine tree. After that was the afterglow of the rain throwing steaming drops of anguish upon his tearless face. Then came the men in white coats, The Red Cross, swimming through his blood to get to him, to save him from his work. The stained-red hands with men attached to them came to spirit him away on their stretcher with a guardian angel holding up each end. It was after his fall from grace that he floated away to a Heaven with bleached, bloodless walls. Surrounded by withering souls without the steam to move on in the cold, cruel world that put them there. Incapable of thundering out of the Heaven to return to his war where he fell. Unable to leave the haven of safekeeping, they all waited to be joined by more. Though he did not. He simply thought of his trials to identify the army of braver men than he. His job, his life flying high above him In front of an army ready to die for the flag That flew in the hands of a simple man. He remembered things, not many though. He remained on his back watching the rain fall to the earth… And the rain fermented on the sidewalk in all the seeming of a cast iron brewery seeping into the limestone of the concrete. “True absurdism is not less but more real than reality” |
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