The Photograph
Out
of time and out of place,
The
photograph of a soldier’s face
Hangs
like an effigy in the hall
Amid
faded flowers that paper the wall.
Long
ago, before he became
An
image behind a walnut frame,
He
was flesh and bone, blood and fire,
Her
one true love, her heart’s desire.
For
such a little space in time
They
shared a happiness sweet, sublime
A
fledgling splendor, learning to fly
‘Til
its wings clipped the rigid edge of goodbye.
As
he hugged her fiercely to his breast
Her
cheek pressed the medals on his chest.
Wait
for me, darling. Her reply:
I’ll
love you ‘til the day I die.
He
blew a kiss, then closed the gate.
Women
will tarry, but war won’t wait.
Still,
in her dreams, she hears his plea
My
heart, my beloved, wait for me.
Always,
she gives the same reply
I’ll
love you ‘till the day I die,
Then
wakes to remember her broken vow,
So
eager then, so empty now.
A
stirring inside, wind through lament.
Disturbing
leaves of discontent.
She
remembers a beach called Normandy
Where
her dauntless lover’s bravery
Dyed
to purple his valentine heart,
And
ripped his strong young body apart.
His
bones were splintered, his flesh was torn
His
blood ran free on that D Day morn.
He
fell to the ground with an agonized shout;
Fire
burned to ashes, the flame went out.
We
regret to inform you, the telegram said.
Her
lover, her husband, her sweetheart was dead.
She
wanted to hold to his memory
Until
somewhere in eternity
She
could declare with a woman’s pride,
I
loved you ‘til the day I died.
But
other arms would reach and hold
In
the heat of passion old love grows cold.
For
fifty years that vacant face,
Has
silently hung in the same old place.
The
painful price of restitution,
It
never quite buys absolution.
A
photograph hangs in the hall
Dead
as the flowers that paper the wall.
Photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/25022128@N03/9959074393/">Kiama.Library</a> / <a href="http://foter.com/">Foter</a> / <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/">CC BY-NC</a>
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