- Old Soldier -

[Dubh the dark]

- Old Soldier -
They say I drink whiskey,
that my medals are false.
They follow me quickly,
and laugh at my clothes.

My old coat they pull at,
they reach for my hat.
They try then to trip me,
I'm under attack.

I run through the alleys,
I hide in the lanes.
I travel discreetly,
and shadow the rain.

I sit on park benches,
away from the trees,
I watch the wild youngling,
sway on the soft breeze.

Away from the city,
out into the wild,
I walk all around me,
from mile to new mile.

I rustle the orchards,
I sleep in the sheds,
I gaze at the horses,
and dream of the dead.

I walk past their kitchens,
with food on the stove.
My hunger is reaching,
I'm sick with the cold.

At first I start coughing,
and then I lie down,
asleep without shelter,
asleep above ground.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Hi, Dubh the dark.

Thanks for posting this - it's thoughtful and quite haunting, I think.

[Dubh the dark]

Hi, Dubh the dark.

Thanks for posting this - it's thoughtful and quite haunting, I think.

Thanks Caillagh, much appreciated.

[Alwyn]

I agree with Caillagh, this is a powerful and haunting poem!

[Turkafinwë]

I'm in complete agreement with Caillagh and Alwyn! It's full of melancholy and loss and you can feel the desperation and tragic circumstances that the old soldier has to deal with. Great stuff!

[triumphator]

Nice