I’ve seen that run.

I’ve seen their steps.

I’ve seen them all.

All were alone.  

All dreamed about eternity.

And all were left in stairway zone.

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I was the leader of led toys.

They called me…

Let them call me: Jones.

I tried my best.

At any costs.

So I lay down.

                                   ‘’Where are you, Jones?!’’

Maybe there where my whisper was?

I heard it:

‘’On my knees, of course…’’

Gentleman ranker on his knees?

Still crawling?  

                                   ’’Still alive?!

                                     Sir Jones!’’

Am I the leader?

For these men?

They call me… ’’Sir’’?!

                                       ’’Hey! Jones!’’      

                                   Where are you? man!’’

Who are you, Jones?

And where you missed them all?

And are you real gentleman?

A ranker?

A little?

At all?

 

I’m not.  

I’m not a man this time when carrying rank my too low

Nor hero damned in lyric lines well known as steadfast tin toy… 

 

I’m not a man when cross the line drawn closer than the horizon

And when count down swift shrinking time to flow with the tide arising.

I’m not a man in jungle zone from here to damned eternity

Where I am crawling

Now alone

On endless blades

Too red and thin…   

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May 30th, 2012  

photo: US Army (Office of War Information) ca March 1945

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