14 December 2012
They stare at me, those empty beds, but then I can't bare to look back; instead, content In mind to gaze away, averting sore, Salt-ruddy orbs, I'm ignoring the pain: The lance-like thrust invading my thoughts. Rain And wind can neither raise them up so strong, Nor delve so deep before they're drawn up, long- Locked away in secret wells of my fears, As the glare from the beds which will last years.
Those wells were locked but this sight opens all, The barren sheets very unlike the wet walls Which swell and grow as each day creeps on by. In response, I can't fight, resist or cry. My friends, brave men, they used to lie down there. Although they're gone, I can't escape their stare. When I'm chosen to join them, I'll be free. They haven't grown old as I have, but we Shall rest as one. I'm hoping for release. For only then will these empty states cease.
Honourable Discharge • Opuss № I