Forgotten Ground Regained
Toys
Originally published in Withowinde 161, p. 17, March 2012
This mask mocks man, iron hard, eyeless,hateful helmet, horrific headpiece,that hid a fearful man and made his fearseem frightful.
Are those sweat stains, though silent,speaking still, since he last used it,so long ago?
Striking out, shattering bone, brain’s cave,to stash another fierce face,whose fear hid too, behind a visor,needful skull-guard.
Grim warriors on the walls, forever fixed, forlorn,what do you see from there?Your vigil is in vain; the enemies have gone;and all that now remainare toys.
For children, memories of war and battles from afar,frenzied gestures, frantic, frozen, immobile, plastic.the gate is in the mind, the turrets silent standno iron feet on stone.
You cannot climb the cardboard wall.And now the clash of steel on steelsliced flesh and broken bone,the martial shouts and mortal screamsare all a part of childhood’s dreams.Behind the warlike mask, the phantom of the past, a far-off fantasy.
Your flights are falsified, fake battles fought for fun,the floor is spread with corpses.Illusion fails ….. and lapsesand toys are tossed away.But once the men were realand our illusions, less easy to disperse.
Copyright © Tony Mitchell, 2012
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