Paul Anforth

ME

What has happened over all these years?
I look in the mirror and hold back the tears.
That slender young boy, true of limb and eye,
Has passed in an inkling,
Replaced by a spretae injuria formae.

He who rushed to defend the colours
Can barely walk to meet the foe.
Where once pride rose in answer to the call,
All that remains is a hollow empty ball.

There is little recollection of the years gone by,
They all seem to blur in the blink of an eye.
The memories are fractured like a broken glass;
It takes the help of friends just to remember the past.

There is little left of that young warrior,
No pride, no dignity, no self respect.
All that stands between him and hell
Is his sense of Honour and no fear of the Stygian shore.

Each day he must make his stand
And face that terrible enemy,
The one that only a broken mind can conjure past Cerebus,
The eternal guard to the gates of Hell.

Author’s Note: This is the first poem I wrote