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Wednesday, 4 November 2015

Skyscraper Stealth

In his, now, uniform of city-grime,
amidst the Suits dashing to make up time;
he stands at attention, salutes alone
...subway now his shelter, cardboard his home

Bemused passers-by, ridicule the show
He stands firm, undeterred... how could they know?
Their eyes have not seen, what his can't forget, 
Their souls are not stained in blood and regret

In silence, he hears haunting screams from the past
His ears ring incessantly since the blast
He still tastes the sand, which made his eyes bleed
...when naively he hoped to intercede

He joined at eighteen, still child not yet man; 
aspiring hero defending homeland
Little had he thought of what was involved
...his orders and conscience left unresolved 

War's atrocities, he's witnessed first-hand
Dismembered limbs he's picked up with his hands
He's held friends close as they drew their last breath; 
his nostrils filled still... with foul stench of death

Eleven o'clock it has now been and gone, 
on eleventh day this November morn
He's glad of the rain as it hides his tears...
for all of the fallen, throughout the years

It's not with pride but with respect he stands,
for he's seen the cost... he understands
Amusement, for some, his actions maybe;
judged as a Bum as his injury's unseen

No hero is he deemed... nor deems himself 
Drowning, daily, flashbacks have damaged his health
He's lost his mind, family, house and wealth lives in shadows, in skyscraper stealth

© Debbie Razey 2015