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Bandages on Windmill Street

Contributed by Wellington on Friday, 20th June 2003 @ 09:05:00 AM in AEST
Topic: war

Down Windmill street the candles blow
Lit at the stroke of a clock
When the hand tolls the time
And the pining minutes frail
And wilt into the night

But there’s one house where the candle isn’t lit
And that’s where Young Ted lives.
An old warrior’s resting place
He’s wizened round the eyebrows
And his eyelids scorched and wrecked

And his eyes are ghostly grey complexities
Rebellious gnats fly at his bandages.
Ted’s eyes have a tale to tell
For when the yellow smog hit him
They became their own journalists

The white stick guides like a placid monk
Across the pantry floor
And Ted occasionally buckles and winces
Even though the shells aren’t there any more

He remembers the sodden trenches
The time when Gerri’s came, and the putrid gas was warm
As hard as porridge as it his countenance
And the world turned black once more
But this time Aurora shan’t be chased,
And the pupils are dead

He’ll never see again will Ted,
But forever in his mind
Is the branded image of a pining corpse
Covered in the metal of a blistered thought
And that’s why tears soak his bandages.

Copyright Â© Wellington ... [ 2003-06-20 09:05:00]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Bandages on Windmill Street (User Rating: 1 )
by ForsakenSoul on Friday, 20th June 2003 @ 01:22:08 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

A wonderful written poem, you do great even without the help of rhyme. As far as the subject matter goes, its a good change from the usual love. And it has a deep meaning which is always good.

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