Not out of lack of awe for the routine Miracle thrust forth in sacrifice Of smooth bore walls that give to stretch and scream This quick retreat, stumblingly imprecise.
Knots wind my gut not for the sight of you But how it cues recall of my recoil In a siege that broke me - pain has skewed All views of armaments: I see despoil Where you see birth. No lack of loyalty To the battle at large marks my decamp
But that you stand too close to jeapordy; The scent of gunpowder upon you, damp And fresh strikes fear through barrels split, For I Still toy with matchsticks, hoping not to die.
~CRH, April 2012 Note: Feel free to share my work with others but please make sure to use my name if you do.