Blood and Tears

[mr_blue_owl]

An old man, alone in the fetid cellar air

huddling in the squalor of his thoughts

His crabbed hands resting on faded letters

His rheumy eyes seeing a tattered page

And he remembers

A familiar face with a sardonic smile

 

Was that my friend?

Was that he?

Why did he lie?

Why ever did he have to lie?

Though already he had been living a lie

 

Squinting with his vision blurred

Fumbling around for spectacles

But finding them not

beneath the sad jumble of despair

 

Reaching for a missive bearing a coat of arms

And he remembers

A cold, muddy trench in a foreign field

 

Was that our war?

Was that it?

Why did we fight?

Why ever did we have to fight?

When already defeat was a certainty

 

Sweeping the document to the floor in anger

A wooden splinter driving beneath his skin

Watching the bright beauty of the blood

gently trickling over his coarse dry flesh

The crimson colour taking him back in time

to some forgotten event when he was a child

Trying to the catch the moment. but it is gone

And he remembers

A young boy, alone in the fetid cellar air

 

Was that my home?

Was that it?

Why was it sad?

Why ever did it have to be sad?

When already I had endured such misery

 

An old man sniffing the faint perfume of an envelope

And he remembers

A beautiful girl with long black hair

 

Was that my love?

Was that she?

Why did she go?

Why ever did she have to go?

Though already her love had gone before

 

Teardrops forming in the corners of his eyes

dropping onto his hand, mingling with the blood

Whispering to no one

‘Bloody tears, blood and tears

and more bloody tears’

 

Resting his old grey head on the table

amidst scattered paper

full of dead memories

Eyelids flickering and closing

And he remembers

Faceless people drifting by through the years

 

Was that my life?

Was that it?

Where did it go?

Wherever did it all go?

But already it has gone and now it is too late