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Bandages on Windmill Street
Contributed by
Wellington
on
Friday, 20th June 2003 @ 09:05:00 AM in AEST
Topic:
war
|
Down Windmill street the candles blow Lit at the stroke of a clock When the hand tolls the time And the pining minutes frail And wilt into the night
But theres one house where the candle isnt lit And thats where Young Ted lives. An old warriors resting place Hes wizened round the eyebrows And his eyelids scorched and wrecked
And his eyes are ghostly grey complexities Rebellious gnats fly at his bandages. Teds eyes have a tale to tell For when the yellow smog hit him They became their own journalists
The white stick guides like a placid monk Across the pantry floor And Ted occasionally buckles and winces Even though the shells arent there any more
He remembers the sodden trenches The time when Gerris came, and the putrid gas was warm As hard as porridge as it his countenance And the world turned black once more But this time Aurora shant be chased, And the pupils are dead
Hell never see again will Ted, But forever in his mind Is the branded image of a pining corpse Covered in the metal of a blistered thought And thats why tears soak his bandages.
Copyright ©
Wellington
... [
2003-06-20 09:05:00] (Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Bandages on Windmill Street
(User Rating: 1 ) by ForsakenSoul on
Friday, 20th June 2003 @ 01:22:08 PM AEST (User
Info | Send
a Message)
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A wonderful written poem, you do great even without the help of rhyme. As far as the subject matter goes, its a good change from the usual love. And it has a deep meaning which is always good. |
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