BROKEN
Posted: Sat Feb 02, 2019 12:03 pm
BROKEN … Maureen Clifford © The # ScribblyBark Poet
It was survival of the fittest; it was just a step beyond
all the rows of churchyard stones that had waited so long
surrounded by broken bottles, their supernatural song
had caused the metamorphous of the man –
count to ten and overcome it if you can.
He saw the sad faced women as they walked the paths of grey.
He saw the pity on their face as they looked his way.
Another drunk, a yobbo, one who had seen better days
but then he saw the point of impact claim
their faces as they saw this bloke was maimed.
A step beyond the churchyard stones he’d seen horrors of war.
He came to be here with his mates, the ones who’d gone before
whilst he remained, a shattered man with nothing to live for.
A bottle was right now his closest friend.
Oblivion it offered at day’s end.
Each day he made his pilgrimage and passed through the lych gates
and sat beneath the gum tree’s shade – sharing time with old mates
the brown bottle with solace filled removing fear and hates
a pointless life some say – they may be right.
But they don’t live the horrors of his night.
It was survival of the fittest; it was just a step beyond
all the rows of churchyard stones that had waited so long
surrounded by broken bottles, their supernatural song
had caused the metamorphous of the man –
count to ten and overcome it if you can.
He saw the sad faced women as they walked the paths of grey.
He saw the pity on their face as they looked his way.
Another drunk, a yobbo, one who had seen better days
but then he saw the point of impact claim
their faces as they saw this bloke was maimed.
A step beyond the churchyard stones he’d seen horrors of war.
He came to be here with his mates, the ones who’d gone before
whilst he remained, a shattered man with nothing to live for.
A bottle was right now his closest friend.
Oblivion it offered at day’s end.
Each day he made his pilgrimage and passed through the lych gates
and sat beneath the gum tree’s shade – sharing time with old mates
the brown bottle with solace filled removing fear and hates
a pointless life some say – they may be right.
But they don’t live the horrors of his night.