CONSCRIPTION
He strides past as if he’s possessed
By the ghost of a soldier marching to battle
In an endless war against himself
Unsmiling and silent, eyes on the ground,
Hunting an enemy he’s pursued so long
He can barely remember his name
But once I saw him holding hands
With a pretty girl, laughing together,
As if a ceasefire had been declared
That seemed to end just as it began
Leaving him to wait for his next order
In the no-man’s-land of his ravaged heart
No comments:
Post a Comment