Thursday, 15 October 2009

`The Rose`

A smell so perfect it makes me weep
Colour so deep its almost projecting taste
Gripping the sharp thorns in my left hand
The blood oozes down my wrist yet feels almost sexual
Like a lightening bolt from Valhalla I understand
My headless body is tossed in the sand
The rose broken but still gripped tightly in my corpses hand
My Mother standing in the light
Tears trickle down our cheeks onto my Rose
It’s damaged petals reform
Warriors in armour take my Rose
We embrace
I understand everything.

© Tony McNally

Watching Men Burn: The Falklands War, and What Came Next a Soldier's Story

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