The Survivor (Dedicated to P.D.)
That was the first time I saw him.
There he was, standing on the hill
He just stood there, looking over the valley
He never moved much, not much at all
Leaning against that tree
He must have been quite handsome once
Though now it was hard to tell
Underneath the dark hair and wisps of grey,
Brown eyes shone through dried blood
He was there again, the day after that
Standing on that hill, leaning against that tree
I watched him all day, just watching
I think, I hope, he never saw me
His leather was worn and in some places burnt
He looked like he'd been through Hell,
And at the very least, Hell had not been kind
The world was a living nightmare as far as he was concerned
I had never seen so much pain etched into one person's face,
Or so much regret
I watched him again from the top of my tree
He was as silent and still as ever before
The day after that, he was waiting for me
I dropped from my perch, standing gingerly by his side
He stood with the air of one who had lost, or was lost
Lost his pride, lost his dignity and maybe, just maybe, his mind.
I wanted to ask why he stood on the hill
My words never formed but somehow he knew
As the ghost of a smile faded from his face, he looked over the valley one more
I followed his gaze through the wild, rocky glen and at last I understood
Then he unstrapped his gun and pushed it into my hands
It was as battered and worn as its owner
He spoke with conviction, unbridled by fear
"I hope you have no use for it. Not as I did."
With a final glance across the valley
At the numerous graves of his friends
He sadly shook his head, then limped slowly away
"Not as I did."
The first time I saw him,
Yet the very last
'Never again!' I cried
Only the wind heard my plea
I kept his gun, in a velvet box underneath my bed
In memory of the survivor who gave all he had
And I have had no use for it. Not as he did
No, not as he did. Never again
