Disjointed

 

 

 

            My soles are sore,

My once majestic gait replaced

By a hunch that;-

            I walk The Langdale Pikes no more!

 

How fast the wind once caught my sense;-

I’d catch it,

Fasten it to my tails and tease –

To break a sweat but now,

The fences that I hurdle

Snatch only the garments that I wear.

 

            Wear and tear,

            Wear and tear – “my feet!”

 

            The sweatboxes that cradled

The walker, yomp in time one – forty paces,

The kiwi not shined for replacement by a desert,

A desert that dulls to keep a thousand rebels far away.

 

The Sun shines and the heat,

Straps my chin tightly to a dome –

And the sauna makes the

Trauma of alertness foggy

As the salt stings the peaceful

Vision of a village in my zone,

            And my breath sounds shallow

In a state of precognition as I try,

I cry a hopeless shriek as my comrade

Triggers blood upon the wire,

And in an instant; the quietness is blown.

 

            I’m on the ground!

And all becomes absurd as I feel

The burning on my face but the flash

Of cordite clogs my sense of ‘all, alone.’

            And I’m tempted,

            Smiling like a clown

That knows the punch-line to a very

Private joke and choked,

The water sprinkles clarity on lips

That brittle skin eight days a week,

            And the metal on my tongue –

Sniggers pain from lower legs,

And I’m laughing like a banshee

As my soul becomes a trophy once disowned,

 

The rotors fill the void that sends

My tired torso home –

A home that’s now converted for the lame,

            I am disjointed, but;-

 

                                    “If I can,

                                    If I can,

                                    I will make the Pike of Stickle

                                    With the prosthetics

                                    Now my legs,

                                    And though I’m sure my soles

                                    Still feel the pain,

                                    I am 3 Rifles,

                                    And I’ll not lay down this day!”

 

 

Michael J Waite 7^th June 2010.