Thursday, 1 October 2009

For Hope and Memory

On a walk along the Thames foreshore,
Where wild inshore pagan winds,
Would always send fine sand to scour,
My weeping, wilting, gritted eyes,
I once found a fallen swallow,
Fluttering forlornly on the beach,
Her wings were broken and feathers torn,
Hunted down by a hawk from the high,
Whose razor red talons had raked her back,
Then abandoned its meat for some reason,
Perhaps disturbed by a witness,
Or just content to know it had killed,
It had fled its crime to seek new prey,
Whilst its joy was left behind, pitifully broken,
Too wounded to fly, simply left to die,
And await the starving, skulking fox of night.

I gathered her from the ground, carefully,
Delicately, as one would raise a rose,
To steal a few seconds of its scent,
So as not to wound her any more,
And held her softly in my hands,
As a Knight would hold the Holy Grail,
Or a father his newborn child, still wet,
With its first sacred, eternal breath,
And I solemnly wished her wounds were well,
That my magic would bind her bones,
And knit anew her flesh to fly again,
So she could soar amidst the infinite blue,
And seek a sunny, distant Eden,
Whilst all the time I felt her heart beat,
As a tiny drum inside her chest,
Soft upon my palm, like a patter of rain,
Dripping from sky on a summers day,
Reminding me of a child’s toy that I once had,
That depended upon the turns of a key,
For its clumsy clockwork life and motion,
And which would slowly die each time,
I would leave it alone inside a cupboard.

As I held her gently in my hands,
Gazing into her dark eyes,
I saw the light within begin to fade,
And felt her fear subside,
As her tiny heart began to fail,
First it skipped a beat, then another,
Slowing as the mechanism began to fail,
As the winding down of a spring,
Would turn my toy into a statue,
And then in an instant, death came,
As a sudden storm sweeps the corn,
On a darkened summer day,
Breaking the fragile stalks,
Of my innocence and child’s play,
As it comes for our dreams,
And for lovers we used to hold,
Whose kisses the turning tide will claim,
As the price of such precious gains,
And the forfeit for playing petty games.

I buried her where she could feel the sun,
In a hollow of earth in the East,
So that when the dawn rose each day,
Glittering columns of golden light,
Would sweep across her cell of soil,
And soothe away all her sorrows,
Ensuring her spirit could fly forth anew,
On fresh wings, unfettered by death,
Arising as hope from the hurt,
To find herself in a new heaven,
And soar amidst the streaming clouds,
In holy flocks of fellow memories,
That forever form both boy and man,
Who I once was and who I will become,
Secure inside a treasure chest of secrets,
Where we all hide our joys and sorrows,
Trading our today for a better tomorrow.

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Anonymous said...

My God I thought you were a lawyer not doing creative writing at the Open University!? Isn't there a better way to submit your homework

Defender of Liberty said...

I am a lover, fighter and writer.

Wise man said...

This is fucking hilarious!

Defender of Liberty said...

Oh wise man,

share with us your wisdom.

Or not, as the case may be.

Defender of Liberty said...

Where you been hiding old sailor,

have they let you with an electronic tag after your latest kiddy fiddling episode ?

Runesword said...

Beautiful, Lee. It touches my soul.

Those who sneer and mock have no soul.
They are born dead.

Defender of Liberty said...

Thank you mate,

I am really glad you liked it.

I have decided to write more poems like this in the future as opposed to the intense imagery of some of the ones in the past.

I really appreciate the comments,



Anonymous said...

Love, write and fight on.

Andraste said...

UK mammals have 'Celtic fringe'

Anonymous said...

Do you have any poems about napalm?