Freedom
Brown leaves, curled and frost covered
Crunch beneath my feet
Morning air crackles
Its freshness burns my nose
By a fallen tree, I sit
I turn for my father
He is not there
I cradle his Winchester
Shafts of light beam down
Dotting the forest floor
Ringing echoes down the hall
I swing my feet to the floor
I rise to face a cloudy mirror
Eyes, empty as a beggar’s cup
Stare back,
Turning, I stretch to my toes
And grind my fists into my back
I plod the cement floor
To grasp cold bars
Another day begins
Brown leaves, curled and frost covered
Crunch beneath my feet
Morning air crackles
Its freshness burns my nose
By a fallen tree, I sit
I turn for my father
He is not there
I cradle his Winchester
Shafts of light beam down
Dotting the forest floor
Ringing echoes down the hall
I swing my feet to the floor
I rise to face a cloudy mirror
Eyes, empty as a beggar’s cup
Stare back,
Turning, I stretch to my toes
And grind my fists into my back
I plod the cement floor
To grasp cold bars
Another day begins
In his younger years, Tom
Davis served as a Special Force Combat Diver. It seems to him that he spent
more time on, in, and under the water than as a landlubber. This and other
adventures he has written about in his memoir, The Most Fun I Ever Had With
My Clothes On: A March From Private to Colonel.
http://www.oldmp.com/davismemoirs
Well written, Tom. Your poignant images draw me into your experience, an excellent example of 'show, not tell.'
ReplyDeleteDear Tom,
ReplyDeleteQuite a day begging, I like it
Unique descriptive writing.
Yancy