I am alone
I tread the empty street;
Dark windows watch me
Like a hundred lifeless eyes.
Has it been three years, or a thousand
Since last I saw this site?
This was home.
All are gone.
All are dead.
Does it matter?
No.
Everyone born must die;
The war taught me that.
I pass a bloodied corpse;
Once I would have shuddered,
Once I would have wept
But now my eyes are dry.
It was not always so,
Not in my first battles;
I mourned my comrades,
Lying lifeless in the trenches.
Nothing moves me now;
My heart died long ago.
I am cold.
Frozen in the frost of war.
Life and death are one to me;
They walk ever hand in hand.
The war is ended,
But who remains?
Who will sing the victory song?
They all have perished;
A hundred thousand unmarked graves,
And many more still unburied—
All that remains of my country.
My past lies shattered at my feet;
I have no future;
The present alone exists.
This is no time for grief,
No time for fear,
No time for pity.
It’s a time to survive.
I warm myself by smoldering house.
A stench of burning flesh—
But it’s warm,
And that is all that matters.
Snow begins to fall;
A white shroud for a murdered land.
One building yet stands;
A church, with shattered windows,
Yet it offers shelter
The door stands ajar,
Dangling from broken hinges.
An usher slumps lifeless in the doorway.
I step over him;
I do not pity the dead,
Nor do I fear them.
More corpses lie within;
It is a wedding,
Frozen in time.
The bride and groom lie still
Locked in an eternal embrace.
The wedding party is close at hand:
Dead. All are dead.
I take the heavy altar cloth,
Stained with the parson’s blood,
Some would call this sacrilege,
But the altar cannot freeze to death.
I can.
The cloth is thick and warm.
I curl up in a corner,
Knees drawn up,
And there I rest
Wrapped in red velvet.
A sudden sound
Stirs me from sleep—
A soft thump,
Deep echoes fill the church.
I quickly rise
And draw my gun.
“Who’s there?”
My voice rings hollow
In the forsaken sanctuary.
Silence answers me.
Ghosts?
The thought stirs no fear in me.
Fear is weakness;
I left it on the battlefield,
Slain together with my humanity.
No phantom can harm me;
Men like I have no souls.
I am alert.
My senses are battle-sharpened.
No sound can escape my ears.
I hear a faint whimpering
A dying animal?
I creep towards it
On hands and knees
Gun ready,
I am back in the trenches,
Crouched behind enemy lines,
Seeking my foe.
Something stirs beneath a pew.
I jerk back.
I kneel,
Look under;
Two blue eyes stare back
Wide with terror.
A child’s eyes, a child’s face,
A child’s had reaching for mine.
I am hardened, cold, and cruel
Yet I cannot turn away.
The child crawls out;
A little girl.
Her ruffled white dress,
Stained with blood,
Her tangled black curls,
Her dirty, tear-stained face
All speak of last night’s horror.
But her eyes have lost their fear.
I hold out my arms to her;
Why? I do not know.
She comes,
Leaps into my arms,
Clings tightly to my neck.
I take her in my arms.
She is crying.
My eyes are wet.
I thought I had no more tears;
I was wrong.
Sobs.
Her sobs mingle with mine,
A child’s voice and a man’s
Blend in a lament
A dirge for a country bathed in blood.
I feel my heart breaking—
The heart I did not know I had.
I stood, lifting the little girl
Around her trembling shoulders,
I wrap the altar cloth.
A single ray of sunlight
Shines through the open door.
I look out into the sunrise,
A fresh wind has scattered the clouds.
The child clings to me;
I cradle her in my arms.
She is a survivor,
Like me.
I leave the church.
I tread the silent streets again,
Carrying the little girl.
The deep peal of a bell rings out
Loud and clear.
Again and again it sounds,
The winds rushes through the steeple
Stirring the great church bells.
On I walk,
Leaving the dead city behind
Under the tolling of funeral bells.
I stride boldly out into the rising sun.
The past has perished,
The future awaits me,
And I am ready to face it
Together with this child.
She whispers her name in my ear:
“Hope”.
No comments:
Post a Comment