The Waiting
By TheShyAssassin
Tue, 24 Jul 2018
- 456 reads
A private kingdom of six by four.
Bedroom, refuge, library, prison cell.
An only boy lost in books from a suitcase.
A lonely boy, a fantastical world,
Where exceptional bullets bring painless glory.
And the Highlanders hold the Imperial Guard, dull to the bayonet slash.
Where the Germans are routed and the Japs are crushed.
But the God of Albion guides the white-hot shrapnel safely to its cooling rest.
And he remains unscathed.
Death, for him, holds no fear.
Suffering for others. Victory his birthright.
A home-made girl and a home-made house.
A home-made farm in a home-made state.
A tom-boy, in washed-out denim and checks.
Runs through cornfields, bandana trailing in the wind..
Eating what she grew.
Too young to the knowledge of the circle of life.
We cannot know the butterflies who flapped their wings,
But sixty years later the cyclones collided.
Be grateful, then.
For fate, both capricious and kind.
- Log in to post comments