Comfortable Arrows
Lay down my friend,
lay upon a muddy pillow,
Such relief
after a hard day
playing in battle
and in fear.
Take off a limb
or two,
and slip into
something gauze,
Swathes of
poppy red fields,
crisp and clean
will embrace you.
Perhaps a little claret,
sticky,
a good nose
but not too old,
Warm,
trickling
and soothing,
Vintage,
with a bouquet
of iron,
Barbed,
with a lingering finish,
Perfect with a cigar,
Hand rolled
leaves of skin,
Toasted,
flakey,
rubbed
and lit....
Inhale,
inhale
through silver holes,
Where sparkling bullets
still ricochet,
Still smoking.....
Breath,
pause,
breathe,
pause,
pause.....
Turn down
the exploding lights,
It's only a game,
Those blazing fires
of the cannons
are far too bright
for our little lot,
for us to be brave,
To relax,
to die.
Perhaps
a little music will help,
A bugle,
a boom,
a cry,
a boom,
a whistle,
a shout,
a bugle,
a boom,
Like the rythmn
of a drum,
of a heart,
or a love song.
Close your eyes,
there's nothing more
to see,
To live for,
To feel......
It's all in your
imagination.
You will not
hurt anymore
when dying is like
being executed
by smiling friends
with childish bows
and comfortable arrows.
© RJVHorton2014
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
Comfortable Arrows
Lay down my friend,
lay upon a muddy pillow,
Such relief
after a hard day
playing in battle
and in fear.
Take off a limb
or two,
and slip into
something gauze,
Swathes of
poppy red fields,
crisp and clean
will embrace you.
Perhaps a little claret,
sticky,
a good nose
but not too old,
Warm,
trickling
and soothing,
Vintage,
with a bouquet
of iron,
Barbed,
with a lingering finish,
Perfect with a cigar,
Hand rolled
leaves of skin,
Toasted,
flakey,
rubbed
and lit....
Inhale,
inhale
through silver holes,
Where sparkling bullets
still ricochet,
Still smoking.....
Breath,
pause,
breathe,
pause,
pause.....
Turn down
the exploding lights,
It's only a game,
Those blazing fires
of the cannons
are far too bright
for our little lot,
for us to be brave,
To relax,
to die.
Perhaps
a little music will help,
A bugle,
a boom,
a cry,
a boom,
a whistle,
a shout,
a bugle,
a boom,
Like the rythmn
of a drum,
of a heart,
or a love song.
Close your eyes,
there's nothing more
to see,
To live for,
To feel......
It's all in your
imagination.
You will not
hurt anymore
when dying is like
being executed
by smiling friends
with childish bows
and comfortable arrows.
© RJVHorton2014
