Colin F. Jones


Do we when looking see what’s really there,
Or does our inner eye influence the scene,
We can read so many pictures in a stare,
And yet perhaps just overlook the dream.
There’s a special wildness in a warrior’s gaze,
Designed by fear and survival’s will,
Which is not there at a later stage,
Though memories of the conflict lingers still.
There is a hardness, but it is not hate,
A sad remoteness in a threatening eye,
Eyes of a man who already knows his fate,
Eyes of a man who’s not afraid to die.
A man who looks unsmiling on the world,
With the ruins of bitter conflicts in him curled.