Yeah, I know, I never saw this coming either. A poem, or rather, my poem. It’s my only one. My excuse is that I wrote this long enough ago to officially be able to say I did not know better. Nowadays I’d berate myself silly for such shash. Enjoy!
Everyone ducked at the sound of the shot,
“We’re coming to get ya, ready or not!”,
It’s lucky there’s nothing to trouble a mind,
So empty of reason there’s nothing to find.
Will my last train of thought involve leaving her here?
Screaming my name as I run, filled with fear?
In a flash of inspired, fear-fuelled stupor I stop,
“Babe, I’m coming to get ya, ready or not!”.
Its a tenuous thing; this cowards remorse,
It’s too late to find God; for life to reverse,
So why is there some space, some reason to doubt,
Why I charge in hell-bent on getting you out?
The room’s full of smoke and there’s blood everywhere,
And in a heart-beat my resolve starts to tear,
When a scream from my girl sets the steel to my back,
I’ve decided, “No more! Its time to attack!”.
As the bullets zip past me I jump through a door
And roll like a gymnast over the floor,
I stop as ahead I see my girl – she’s weeping,
From a hundred new wounds her blood is now seeping.
She looks up at me and a smile lights her face,
But her eyes start to fade and my heart starts to race,
And then there’s the moment where all sentience fades,
And my heart is thrust open with millions of blades.
For a moment or two I feel hope beyond hoping,
But inside I know that I’d better start coping,
With the agony rolling around in my head,
That bitterest knowledge – I’d left her for dead…