Anzac

If I smile, will it hold; will I look much less cold,
as they put the last stitch in my shroud.
Or will death purvey a true mask to betray,
all the sorrow, cruel fate has assigned?
I think now, as I lay, of a sun-laden day,
when the sky could not conjure one cloud.
Where the meadows were gold and our love became bold;
our hungry young bodies entwined.

We had not intended, but must have offended
the Gods, or the fates, that map souls.
For why else decide, that two hearts be denied,
such dreams, when perfection discovers,
That those, side by side, can no more divide,
notwithstanding life takes the controls.
For when such is blended, it cannot be ended;
and so says the scripture of lovers.

The sound of the guns, grows distant and runs
to the edge of my conscience, to seek
a peacefulness there, that dispels the despair
lurking, waiting, to ambush my mind.
Though strange, I’m aware of the smell of your hair
and the freckles that speckle your cheek.
There are no reruns, in the settings of suns…
still your memory is clearly defined.

Chris Birrane © 2012