Monday, 25 March 2013

Runner


‘For you, my friend, a thousand times over.’
Your sacrifice eternal in my mind,
My thoughts and conscience devoured by closure
Lacking in lieu of your eternal kind.

The icy innocence with which I said
Those words, cold, but to a child’s ear seeming
Justified; yet my self-pity grew dead
Whilst age drew my redemption as dreaming.

His skin is flayed and cracked, your soul alive
Within him; his young eyes bear that same light
Turned on me now; I tilt the kite and dive
With his fervent applause, my guilt takes flight

Chasing his kite as it falls from the sky
‘For you, a thousand times over,’ I cry.


By Barney Thompson