Beyond The Call Of Duty

‘Blue lit dreams misted over’  Lizelah Thaugally


Dragged to and fro on a wet stretcher,
intimate profiles unknowingly proffered
through thin blue cotton against barrage light,
did not go amiss, nor soft voice and hands
tending to deep wounds needing
skilful healing. Left defenceless,
eyes bandaged to lessen their distress,
tortured mind visualised an angelic form
in summer dress, receding towards the sun;
until short, sharp breaths, a pulse fading,
bade her back, to fight on, by desire alone;
pressing, stemming, her potions,
anaesthetic as the ambience of her being,
suspending body, mind, and time,
sensing no pain, separation or expectation,
but liberation; unaware of her sacrifice,
until, she and I met up again,
stranded at Dunkirk.



© Gothicman 2019
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critique and comments welcome.

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What a powerful piece, Trevor. Haunting and visceral. I felt I was being carried into the piece with each new line. Yep, this is a keeper.

much respect,

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