Release Me

Tired with all these to restful death I cry
(sonnet 66, Shakespeare)

the military plane is unseen high above the sea
her seatbelt is unlocked
she is frog-marched to the rear cargo door
and without ceremony released into a rush of cold air

falling … falling … falling
she falls
like an angel

stop the world I want to get off!

I had no choice
I was sent on this journey with a kiss
wrapped in warmth, some might even say a love
seemingly there was some portent
a sense of being carried in the flow
moving in creation’s active pulse
but the view of her descending now disturbs
from my perspective I do not understand
should I try, … perhaps not …

where there was beauty
her face is cut
and bleeds before me
an unstoppable drain of colour

where there was faith
worms eat at rusting iron
it is brittle in my hand
and crumples

where work held a distraction
its limbs now grate
and stiff movement
brings but pain

where honour once held the head high
it is grounded downcast
and curves the back
each step a stumble

where respect gave value
and actions were applauded
its currency corrupts
and buys vain meaning

where duty brought a pride
its hollow voice
echoes in emptiness
down draughty corridors

where nature’s eye was clear
a veil now covers
her path thorned
by her own being

where virtue once made pure
is tarnished
trodden in the mire
the snow a yellow mush

where art showed a merit
glistened in the sun
a shadow casts
dark across its structure

where strength was steel
it twists disabled
aching from within
forcing its own destruction

where rightful perfection
becomes degraded by deceit
and all sensitivity
is sour to the taste

she continues to fall
falling … falling … falling
she falls
like an angel

but there is always the thin line of blood
that connects humanity, a dendritic cover
woven by eternal love, an invisible safety net –

the only release from impending death

© Richard Scutter 13 June 2007


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