Soldier

I feel like part of me has been erased,
Though I’m not sure if it’s something inside me,
Or something externally.
I have been brave endlessly.
I’ve become a tin soldier, guarding myself against
The past and, unwittingly, the present.

It could be another person I need.
It could be a specific person,
His footsteps circling my heart intrepidly.

Life seems stagnant;
My room full of restless dreams and broken promises.
Please, please won’t you write to me?
Mustn’t sound desperate, or crazy,
But without you life is eternal shades of grey.

Maybe I need to play the harp again,
Fill my days with strings and the silence in between.
Though harps cannot spoon, or smile.

Books are some comfort; their pages like warm caresses.
I embrace the dormant grief of the characters as my own and,
Thus, feel less alone.
But the dusty covers in my hands disturb me;
There is no grace once the words have left my mind.

London haunts me, leaving the present devoid of life.
I miss my elated heart, ecstatic down The Strand,
Breaking open beside the Trafalgar lions and
Gazing through frosty café windows.
I could go away again but would I really escape my fate…
Or your face?

My body remains untouched,
Like china cups displayed on shelves in a locked cabinet.
This afternoon ticks by without words.
I don’t want to feel empty anymore.

(1st April ’11)

© R. Homburg