the final course

you said it coursed though your veins.

i imagined a race, winding round and
through, not knowing where it would end.

you called it a battle.
so we gathered our weapons:
the bowls of soup, blankets,
warm rags, buckets, the ice.
a battalion against the unknown.

they charted the course and gave us the news.
“don’t give up! there’s hope troops.”

we carried you through the worst
as you led us through the rest, followed orders,
gave you nothing but the best.

then they said you could lose.

i imagined a race, not believing
that you wouldn’t end in first place

i think i have a fondness for war and race metaphors 😉

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s