Thurman P. Woodfork


I’ve come home, but not from War;
It waits there, near my mind’s door;
I can hear it snuffling,
Its horny feet shuffling,
Waiting to possess me once more.

I’m afraid it will never relent;
My nostrils are filled with its scent.
It rumbles and growls,
And ceaselessly prowls,
Adding to my rising torment.

It’s just waiting for me to sleep,
So into my mind it can creep,
And bring back scenes,
I’d left in the Green,
Chortling as it watches me weep.

But I refuse to accept defeat;
I cannot and will not retreat.
I’ve done my best,
And, just like ‘Beau Geste’,
I still am one of the elite.

My duties I never will shirk;
I rise each weekday for work,
And try as it might,
I will win this fight
While deep in my brain it still lurks.

I know I’ll conquer each day,
For this is how I will stay –
Let it snarl and groan,
Howl and moan,
Like a wolf in search of its prey –
Until Death comes to take me away.

Author’s Note: For Charles “Chuck” Schwiderski