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Array ( [sid] => 42421 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Prisoner of War. [time] => 2004-04-09 01:25:52 [hometext] => The sad face of an Australian POW from WW 1 in a magazine prompted this one. [bodytext] => Sometimes now I wonder as time
Creeps slowly by, if I shall live to
See once more a friendlier
Sky than this that mocks my
Hopeless prison days.

I turn peering through bars of time
And space. I yearn to see a road,
Red ribboned, writhed in sullen dust
About a lonely rise; a ring barked tree
Trunk thrust to heaven.

See sun-scorched stock seeking shade
Where none can be, and living things all
Flayed by whips of heated winds.
A false horizon stretched, hag ridden by
Mirage, where bush fires have etched
Their ebonies on greens and browns.

A lonely crow, gorged to it's fill;
A satiated bird of prey so well content
with offerings of drought it nods to rest.
So thus nostalgia beats with little rods,
My memory to keener life, burning
My eyes to tears; remembering
The heat and fretting of the years
That still may come to me.

I dare not try to think of this my native
Land in kindlier mood, or sink my
Soul in longing for her;
Each day as I wake, think not of
Home, or love, fearing my heart will break [comments] => 1 [counter] => 142 [topic] => 57 [informant] => Jillian [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war )

Prisoner of War.

Contributed by Jillian on Friday, 9th April 2004 @ 01:25:52 AM in AEST
Topic: war

Sometimes now I wonder as time
Creeps slowly by, if I shall live to
See once more a friendlier
Sky than this that mocks my
Hopeless prison days.

I turn peering through bars of time
And space. I yearn to see a road,
Red ribboned, writhed in sullen dust
About a lonely rise; a ring barked tree
Trunk thrust to heaven.

See sun-scorched stock seeking shade
Where none can be, and living things all
Flayed by whips of heated winds.
A false horizon stretched, hag ridden by
Mirage, where bush fires have etched
Their ebonies on greens and browns.

A lonely crow, gorged to it's fill;
A satiated bird of prey so well content
with offerings of drought it nods to rest.
So thus nostalgia beats with little rods,
My memory to keener life, burning
My eyes to tears; remembering
The heat and fretting of the years
That still may come to me.

I dare not try to think of this my native
Land in kindlier mood, or sink my
Soul in longing for her;
Each day as I wake, think not of
Home, or love, fearing my heart will break

Copyright © Jillian ... [ 2004-04-09 01:25:52]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Prisoner of War. (User Rating: 1 )
by Jenni_Kalicharan on Friday, 9th April 2004 @ 01:52:22 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Really touching write..... great imagery..
Jenni

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