The air is musty,

Permeated by the scent of damp soil.

The tiled walls are green,

Overgrown with moss.

Plastic curtains hang over hospital beds,

Yellow signs embossed with black symbols.

Graffiti covers the wooden doors,

Help us, they say.

It gets lonely sometimes,

My only companion being the dust.

Metal helmets,

Wooden rifles,

Trembling hands,

Shuddering breaths,

Scared faces,

Wind howls in your ears,

The sea spray salty,

The artillery booms,

Ghosts of war scream.

Fifty yards,

The boat shakes in the currents.

Forty yards,

You take out her picture.

Twenty yards,

Run your hands across the photograph.

Fifteen yards,

Kiss her beautiful face.

Ten yards,

You’ll see her again.

The ramp drops.

Come home safe, won’t you?

You're the past,

Long gone.

I still see you around.

You're the past,

I've learnt my lessons.

I haven't.

You're the past,

Don't come back.

I want you back.

You're the past,

So stay in the past.

That's what you tell yourself.

You're the past,

I'll stand strong,

That's the spirit, comrade.

I walk,

The power I once wielded,

Now torn away,

Shoved into the hands of others.

I walk,

The people who once cheered me,

Now boo,

Throwing eggs and stones.

I walk,

The friends I once had,

Now turn their backs on me,

Disgusted.

I walk,

The lands I once ruled over,

Now given to the peasants and slaves,

Split.

I stumble,

The soldiers I once commanded,

Now drag me by the arms,

Shackled and chained.

I struggle,

The court I once headed,

Now replaced with revolutionaries,

The gavel sounds,

Guilty.

I trip,

The gallows I once watched people hung on,

Now waiting for yet another victim.

Ready for death.

I try to speak,

The voice which once held the attention of the masses,

Now weak and quiet,

Cut off.

I fall,

The mind, once so great,

Now lifeless, unthinking,

Gone.

A poet’s wish,

Is to write endlessly,

Idea after idea,

Inspiration after inspiration,

Verse after verse,

Without ever running dry on words to use.

A poet’s wish,

Is to write freely,

Express themselves,

Write what they want,

Without ever feeling the need to be appreciated.

A poet’s wish,

Is to be able to succeed in life,

Doing what they like,

Write,

Read,

Ponder,

Without ever needing to face the harsh reality of life.

A poet’s wish,

Is to be able to write forever,

Doing what they love,

Laugh,

Cry,

Never stop writing,

Without ever needing to tend to other things.

A poet’s wish,

Is to be able to be loved,

Be cared for,

Be human,

Have friends,

Have family,

Who care for you,

To put you back together when you break

Without a price.

A poet’s wish is to be focused,

A poet’s wish is to be uninterrupted,

A poet’s wish is to be perfect,

A poet’s wish is to be flawed,

A poet’s wish is to be normal,

A poet’s wish is to be free,

A poet’s wish is to be heard,

A poet’s wish is to be happy.

Be what you want,

Not what they want,

You don’t have to be good,

Just be enough for yourself.

Don't forget where you came from,

When you have reached where you've always wanted to go.

Don't forget the wish that started it all,

When you have completed your journey.

Don't forget those who have helped you,

When you can finally stand on your own.

Go, make your wish a reality.