War Zone. (New Version).

The river of love bore you
laughing
to an early death.

May Lazarus lift you up
out of the fire of unknowing
into the morning light.

Your bones knit back together;
the new made flesh a hospice
for the soul we thought was lost.

But your poor wounded skull is howling,
your hat of soiled bandages
trailing deep in mud.

The face of the girl you deserted
reflected in the blankness
of your grey, unseeing eyes,

and the bullet hole deep in your temple
drilled like a cave in the hillside
where the newly dead are buried.-



Imitating birds, plumed with white feathers,
children gather up the scattered bandages
to make a bridal gown.

A gown for the holy image,
the bride without a future
in the sanctuary named for you.

But you are no longer there,
you went back to the Somme and your comrades,
far from the girl who cried.

And when for a second time
you were dragged from the burning trenches
to rest in the arms of Lazarus,
she had returned to breath on your bones
to give you back your life.

But you were now too lost to believe her,
too lost to be saved by her love.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 24th. - 31st. 2014. - July 20th. - August 15th. - 25th. 2016.