Poetry

Abscond

Edward Woodward

April 3, 2021

FearWarDeathPoemPoetry

So sure I was of causes which
My heart I should have gladly lent —
Forever
And forever
And forever! —
That scarce I cared those cuts to heed
Which embers of my sins did feed.
And, hearken!
Alone I may now weep,
Till these mosses of time,
Which do my heart enfold,
Send their keepers in the nether night,
To which my fellow skin itself unfolds.

Beneath the silent starless starkness
Of the foredawn foggy darkness
I did rise that in my fear I might
Then slink beyond the walls —
To lands afar and free of feud —
Of where my fellows dare not tell
They might that night have dreamt.

But such the law forbids a stroll
From honour and from duty that
Conceal among the murk and dust
The emblem of my home I must.
For now this shining morn of mine
Inherits by its infant light
The shame that in the stealth of night
My feet should hasten, pace, and tread,
To halt the spilling of my head:
That such a loyal soul as I
Should in good health abscond.

And nevermore, nevermore,
Those dead of ours implore,
Shall we find in lighted rooms
So cruelly cast about the floor
The old,
And the weary,
And the weak,
As plainly in the throes of death.