Lord of the Skies

Fat hands reluctant to give away those

Humbled medallions – grubby, smudged,

Smeared with the sweat of cleaning,

Of helpless, hopeless tears,

Of ‘Give ‘em back! I can hardly see!’

Until the glossy white image forms,

The thin trickle of smoke and the tiny flame

Of protest,

‘Jus’ blurs, that’s all…’

One’s loss is the gain of others.

His fault,

That clumsy wailing whale of a boy

Encouraged the bolting look, the fist,

The smack over the head to send the wealth

Tinkling over the rocks.

Broken.

‘Now I only got one eye’,

Now I only got one chance, half the chance, but

Hope, still to be recognised as more than mere

Sunlight gleaming – gleaning sunlight

For a worth of gold.

Cry out in the night

For rescue from those who have forgotten.

Something moves, someone trips, and

Snarls, crashes, flying limbs, but

‘They didn’t come for the conch’.

Plucked to safety with his left hand,

Led away from the darkness

Into the light, respected, protected by

His stabbing spears.

Forwards to glory.

A golden dawn.

Fresh tears joyful with

The glint of honour, the burning of duty,

Proudly displayed from the waist

Of the flame headed boy,

Reflected in those ‘gilt buttons’ of uniform.

No guilt.

A desire fulfilled, standing before the towering creation

Unfurling, uncurling ever skywards

To lick the furthest heights of a potential gained

And to taste sweet success and pride.

To weep for ‘the darkness of man’s heart’ is

To greaten the roaring of victory and

The roaring of the end.