On the evening of the second day, a moon appeared and
somewhere far away, a piper played a lament which carried on the wind.
To the right of me, over the bomb-blasted edge, the boy
who had been crying for his mother, spoke no more. And yet I missed the sound
of another soul, even one tormented.
On the highest ridge, silhouetted by the light of sky
and war, I watched you dance. Your frozen scream caught in time and your broken
body trapped upon the barbed-wire.
Each gust of wind made you jig and dance, as if for the
pleasure of some unseen eyes.
In the morning, I promised I would cut you down and let
you rest; your dancing days are gone.
Sleep well.bobby stevenson 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment