The sad muffled figure coming towards me
Can barely put one foot in front of the other
As if he had lived a whole life
Without ever seeing a flight of stairs.
What terrible sins had not been forgiven
That he should be affected so?
All I can do is stand and wait
Knowing he will need wings
If I am to avoid being late.
But he will never look up
Stares instead at every painful uncertain step
As if he has to count each one.
Then I see that what he has dropped
Is a gauntlet thrown down
And in his hand a walking stick
Turns into something more sinister.
On he comes, now with purpose, over the top
Past barbed wire, the earthworks
Into trenches where friends lie
Like sacks on ******* day.
And with a look I always remember
He accepts my surrender.