* 23/4/16 A Poem and a Painting for the Feast of Saint George


The Feast of Saint George

‘Soldier, come home,’ whispered somewhere, dream-like sleeping

Camped under canvas snapping cold in starlight.

Twenty odd years striving for the right thing

Along paths of Empire sliding past sight

Of vision, thought, or justification.

He cleaned his sword- per regulation;

A rigid lover propped by night

Against the cot. The single-toned ring

As the razor wind blew past shadowed firelight

Set his blade softly singing.

‘Soldier, come home,’ again, from nowhere, new leaves blowing-

Rustling restless in a different kind of storm.

Eyes squinting in darkness, panic growing

Spawned by fear as crumbling forms

Crashed in shrieking accusation.

The rotting Empire’s desolation

Left him gasping; old men’s dreams tattered and torn;

Senseless waters backward flowing

To parched souls stillborn-

A gibbering land all unknowing.

Dawn sounds waking; men muttering, creaking wagons.

With narrowed gaze George searched his heart.

Desert chill froze tears in the empty wards

Like scattered diamonds, random art;

Each a source of illumination.

Hopeful of the consummation,

Gathering courage as new roads start,

Mirrored paths; reflected in the singing sword-

But so very different, now set apart,

He went to face some two-legged dragons.



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Filed under Daily Reflections, poetry

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