Legs the color of brackish water
from a fouled and silent stream.
Both useless as a day without the promise of night,
yet there,
visible reminders of yesterday
and hope for...hope for what?
Someday?
Eyes closed, yet solidly balanced
on the wall divideing consciousness from
the silent dark,
he waited.
Legs uncovered and smeared with
the garish orange color of liquid fire...
he glimpsed toes strangely bare of
this insulting wash, before floating
somewhere above the screeching
grinding sounds of metal cutting into bone...
sounds that battled with beautiful crescendos
of Radetsky's March
for space in his lonely consciousness.
Eyes too heavy with unknowns to open,
he clutched the victorious strains of Strauss
as unfamiliar hands lifted the crisp white sheet...
'we are here to check the stumps'
The hint of a smile softened his ashen face
as he rode the waves of the waltz
to the other side of yesterday.
Regis
Jeanne Ripley
enjoyed reading
Love & Peace
William
Ed
I visited a morgue once to see if I could identify
a male person I knew who was missing...
and you took me here with this beautifully prosed offering
Thank You for sharing your beautiful gift...Vickie
Connie
To have it done in battle with no anesthesia and little to curb infection must've been horrendous.
Thanks for shocking me to life this afternoon.
Ron
Your poem scared the hell out of me! Excellent work!
Sara
Really well done. Dick
Anna
Blessings,
Chris
reality of "The Other Side of Yesterday" ~ Lady Mary Ann
Great poetry, Pat!
Always,
Deborah