Heavily pregnant rainclouds, hang low,
Beneath a sullen sky.
An angry wind whips through empty alleyways,
Picking up discarded litter,
Never knowing why.
I stand at my sash window,
(Dirtier inside than out)
Eyes gritty and bloodshot
From yesterday's excesses,
Far too lost to cry.
I did my duty,
Did my job, and proud,
Now I stand alone
And lost,
Discarded in the crowd.
Transparent, no one sees me,
No one even cares, That I,
Once proud and mighty,
Now wallow,
In despair.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
A/N This is written through the perspective of an ex soldier.
many of whom, once their usefulness is over, are discarded.
They often end up homeless, or in prison.
A fine reward for service, don't you think?
