The battlefield is behind me now,
fallen comrades and foes commemorated alike
in the pain that lingers, the scars I bear,
the faces of the civilians that turn away,
frightened by the unimaginable horror
that marked my journey,
that marked me.
I wear no medals,
nor spoils do I carry,
just the life that is done with me not.
Weary is this soldier
accustomed to ambush,
seasoned by the siege.
Discarded armor lies in the dust behind me,
but the weight of my loneliness slows my steps,
and my heart abandons this march.
Thrusting my sword into the arid earth,
I drop to my knees
and pray for release.
Peering past the sheen of the pommel
and through the glare of the mocking sun,
I suddenly perceive a glimmer in the sky,
an approaching brilliance which burns away all shadows
while gently cooling me from the inside out,
mercifully soothing the wells of torment.
It is an angel I see,
golden and white,
and the love in her eyes comforts me
as nothing has before,
just as the wind from her glorious wings
gives back the breath I squandered
in battle cries and curses.
She nears me, her beauty astounding,
her peace alluring,
and as she stretches out her delicate hand to me
tears run from eyes long dry.
Deliverance at last, yet I weep,
fearful that if I take her hand
I will pull her down to me,
soiling her with my nature.
And if she could support us both with her magnificent wings,
what manner of man would I be
without a stance on my own legs?
Even with these doubts I rise to meet her,
fearless,
and there she is before me,
calming me with the depths of her eyes.
My angel brushes away my sadness,
smiles,
and takes my hand as she lifts away in flight.
I try to pull away, to save her,
but to my amazement
a great flapping ensues
from newly borne wings of my own!
Together we rise,
and with a sweep of her graceful arm
my beautiful angel shows me a beautiful world
I could never have seen from the trenches.
No, I am not dead, but alive at last.
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Poemission
An End to This Struggle
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