He looks at the swollen soul.
His eyes are closed, but this man isn't sleeping.
He hasn't yet gone to bed.
The fingers that clutch onto nothing can't feel.
The scars that speckle his arms cannot heal.
His will to live and love of life
Went with his pulse and aren't here tonight.
* * * *
When Daddy died I found in me
A long forgotten memory,
Of the day before he went
To fly an aeroplane.
His trousers pressed, his shoes were shined.
His eyes were young and dark and kind.
He left my mum and me behind
To hunt a rabid race.
Several years had passed before
I saw a stranger at the door,
With scars so deep I couldn't find
A place for him in heart or mind.
For Daddy's scars were more than marks.
These scars that flared up in the dark
Were dreams of sparks and flying glass,
And poppies pushing through the grass...
* * * * *
I love it.
I feel, you love it.
To see,
To hear the stones,
To feel the guns.
Confusion, assumptions,
Delusion, Consumption
Of fire by fire,
The breaking of bones.
I like to see you
See me feel
The bullet holes,
The crash of steel.
To hear the sounds,
To see the ground
Come closer
As I spiral round.
The camp, afraid.
No fun you see.
A tramp, insane
You see, that's me.
Alone, but busy all the time,
I play these little games of mine.
* * * * *
The Pathologist looks with his cool staring lamp.
He peers at the swollen soul.
His eyes are closed, he'll soon be sleeping.
It's time he went to bed.
"Thank me this break has stopped him making
Hell on Earth for all who knew him;
Calmed his nerves and stopped him shaking.
Biblos tried, but couldn't save him-
Tried to save him when he fell,
To save him from his plastic shell.
I'm glad he's here for me to tell
His scarlet soul to go to hell."
even the best of us make mistakes