His senses hold him prisoner,
Overwhelmed and alone.
The walls are his burden;
The light, too much to bear.
The soaked linen of yesterday’s news,
Stained with fear from battles before—
An old uniform hangs alone,
Boots polished beside paper awards.
Headlights cast broken shadows,
Each a spectre of the past.
Empty scotch bottles and cigarette burns
Mark a slow crawl to solitude.
Light burns through a slither
His heart beats through the walls.
Strangled by the sirens
That triggered him before.
He needs to be cradled,
Yet no hand reaches for him.
He sways back and forth,
A pendulum of grief.
Screams, muted by paralysis;
Silence pervades the void.
Fractured by a rasping breath
And a crescendo of emotions.
The warning bells pass—
They did not come for him.
His fragile breath of sorrow
Whispers to an empty room.
By Darren Wall ©
I previously published this under Sirens (Alternative), but I wanted to try and grab the readers attention better.
