Held

He shuffles down a quiet darkened street, alone, he always dreads this time of year, cause locals, he just cannot bear to meet. He eats collected scraps and drinks warm beer. Now as the rain begins to softly fall he crawls beneath a long deserted shop, and hears the singing from the nearby hall while all the time, he wishes, they would stop. A flash sends goose bumps covering his skin the sky now rumbles with a long deep tone, then, brings back horrors hidden deep within, again, he fronts the enemy alone. Now mortars fall as with each lightning blast he’s foetal in his cardboard box and prays, and shaking as his heart is pounding fast, arms wrapped around his head, he rocks and sways He flinches and he moans with every burst, relives the scenes held deep within his brain, and wishes that the visions would disperse, the sight of blown up bodies, still remain. The rain’s like thunder on this roof of tin, like non stop gunfire in a jungle dense. He’s once again a soldier in the din, where many boys, lost all their innocence. The ‘war’ is easing as the thunder dies, he now releases clasping hands from ears, remembers politicians and their lies and how so many died throughout those years. He hears again the Christmas Carols clear, his shaking starts now slowly to decrease, while in the darkness, sheds a lonely tear, and knows that only death can bring release. He’ll fight no more this demon battle ground as finally succumbed he starts to doze. In time his lifeless body will be found. This old mans story, scribes can now expose.