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     Thoughts From A Far-Flung Place, p.1

       K. J. Tesar
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Thoughts From A Far-Flung Place



Thoughts From
A Far-Flung Place


K. J. Tesar



Copyright 2017 K. J. Tesar



Table of Contents

A Journey Home
The Battle of Bellevue Spur
-Passchendaele 12/10/1917
The Living of a Life
A Life Fades
The Tasman Street Burning
The Flickering Light
Te Wharenui
The Unseen Path
To Hold Too Tight
The Child Mother
When Evil Descends
The Garden of Life
You, Killer
The Edge of Life
The Guiding Light
The Distance Between Us
The Spectre


A Journey Home

The small boat danced across the waves,
white and sleek.
Lost in serenity, the sweetness of the sun,
His mind adrift as the waves cut by.
Enticing smells enveloped him, thoughts of far off places,
A sense of peaceful beauty,
the crux of life.
Lost in his thoughts he had not seen,
The burgeoning wind, the threat from the sky.
A violent crash of the waves,
his languor broke,
The fury had him in its hold, a grip of fear.
Savage waves crashed over the hull,
Consumed with panic, he sought escape.
Convulsed by the immensity,
he knew he was lost.
The rain slashed his face,
Thoughts of his life, all not yet done.
Smashing glass cut his body,
his death written.
Devoured by the tumult, the boat succumbed.
Thrown by the waves he resisted no more,
he let his body free.
A warmth entered him, the fear released,
The sea was his home, if die he must,
there was no better way.
Consumed by the depths, a smile grew on his face,
His life merged with the water,
he had come home.


The Battle of Bellevue Spur
Passchendaele 12/10/1917

In the cold of the morning, whistles blew.
With tiredness in their bones,
the dead men rose,
Their legs were heavy, but fire flamed within.
On the mud filled fields they fell,
Men from the hill country,
seeking only a spur.
On that darkest of days for the young country,
The morning sun shone on their blood-red bodies,
cut down before they reached their bloom.
Those brave boys from Otago,
entangled on the wire barbed,
Caught in arcs of fire, they answered the angel's call.
On those Belgian fields their bodies still lie,
Their souls, unbowed, reposed
in God's embrace.
For days the wounded lay, in frigid lakes of blood and bone,
endless suffering, in that place of tortured dreams.
Those who survived, forever changed,
Never to forget the horror
etched into their eyes.
Across farmhouses in New Zealand desperate mothers wept.
Tales of glory were told, shiny metal displayed.
That day with no victory, brought only death and sorrow,
On those sombre fields,
so far away.


The Living of a Life

The weight of the past
A heavy load
His only friend, his knife
A mystic bond
The stream of his thoughts
His only conversation
Where once kindness flourished
Now lived distrust
The sacred vow broken
His only fault
A distant life, borne only in memories
Fragments clinging
Through everything he still walked tall
Survival his only victory
He longed for a sense of freedom
A release
No more could he be saved
The voices silenced
With difficult measure he advanced
Lost in uncertainty
No way forward, or back
An everlasting present
Condemned to this existence
This unkind life

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