POETRY IN MOTION
THE AGONY OF SURVIVAL
THE AGONY OF SURVIVAL
I dragged a badly injured leg
Across the desert's burning sand,
My throat was parched, my skin on fire,
The only shade, my hand.
Half blinded, walking know not where
In circle or straight line,
Peering through the yellow hell
To see a single sign.
Vultures circled overhead,
Leered like the reaper's hawks.
I couldn't see but I could hear
The sound of knives and forks.
I dragged the leg, left lines of blood,
Some unfleshed bone exposed
And gazed into infinity
With eyelids blister-closed.
And on the trek, bereft of hope,
Disheartened was to find
The horrors faced belittled so
The horrors left behind.
And on I dragged that damaged leg,
Was that for auld lang syne?
It must have been. That bloody leg,
It wasn't even mine.
I dragged a badly injured leg
Across the desert's burning sand,
My throat was parched, my skin on fire,
The only shade, my hand.
Half blinded, walking know not where
In circle or straight line,
Peering through the yellow hell
To see a single sign.
Vultures circled overhead,
Leered like the reaper's hawks.
I couldn't see but I could hear
The sound of knives and forks.
I dragged the leg, left lines of blood,
Some unfleshed bone exposed
And gazed into infinity
With eyelids blister-closed.
And on the trek, bereft of hope,
Disheartened was to find
The horrors faced belittled so
The horrors left behind.
And on I dragged that damaged leg,
Was that for auld lang syne?
It must have been. That bloody leg,
It wasn't even mine.
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THE AGONY OF SURVIVAL
THE AGONY OF SURVIVAL
