He Writes The Names

He Writes The Names

He writes the names upon the wall 
With bloody chalk 
He cannot walk
Remembering days of old.

He writes the names upon the wall
In his cell he hears screams from down the hall
The constable outside his door laughs and sings a hearty tune
Rats dance as widows weep in the courtyard.

He writes the names upon the wall 
Hoping to heal them all
His son tells tales of a general baptized in melted gold and silver
A prostitute to the highest degree 
Many wars 
Bloodstained whores 
Dead soldiers float in the water like old cigarette butts. 

He writes the names upon the wall 
Beyond forgiveness his shadow falls 
Hitting the floor with a thunderous crash 
Wrestling for his last breath visions of white flowers began to rain on him 
The cell started to crumble  
A daughter he lost long ago before the war appeared and kissed his hand
She whispered in his ear 
“It’s time to go and be my dad.” 

©2017 Randle Allshouse Jr.