Emperors Wall

He sits in a place of beauty,
Of a wall named after an Emperor,
Pondering on the past,
Thinking of life,
Wishing faults were never made,
He knows that is whom he is,
But guilt eats him inside.

Legs crossed, back straight,
As he sits at the roman Emperor,
He envisions the past when,
The invading army,
Would march over the not so bonny bridge,
He sees the memories of history,
Shadow in time,
Walk among the trees as if,
they were still alive.

He can smell the manure from local field,
He hears tourists on the two met rivers,
Slight force on his cheeks,,
Rustle in his hair,
Black leather he wears,
Sits with a weight on the grass.

Silver object against his skin,
Vertical slash up his arm,
The Blood flows into freedom
As he takes the last breathe.
The last gasp.

He fades,
Eyes close,
He dies,
His soul is free.

© 2005 – 2016

By Bryan Deakin

Hello and welcome to my site, my name is Bryan Deakin, 35yr old from Scotland. A Dyspraxic, Poet, Blogger and Community Activist, I studieda BSc(Hons) Sustainable Development, at the University of Highlands and Islands. Lover of all things Greek and Finnish, and a keen and active member of Falkirk SNP. Prior I was Vice President of Simple Machines, and Project Manager at Simple Machines Forum (SMF).

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