when cries of sorrow from the distant war’s
diluted drumbeats quenched by falling rain
I meet his eyes across the aisle – a corpse
escaped to safety of sorts – in pain
a lonely refugee that passed through doors
to spend his days on my commuter train
from dreams of landmines and his mother’s death
let him find bliss and share our summer’s breath
From Wikimedia commons
Yesterday at Sunday Form challenge, Kerry inspired us to do Yeats’ octaves. I tried the first example yesterday and today I do the second form. I link this to Open Link Monday at toads
—
June 16, 2014
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Good piece on the damage that ward inflicts, Bjorn. —Susan
Nicely said.
You have taken this form in your stride, Bjorn. The lines flow without interruption taking the reader along. The portrait you have captured shows a keen understanding of the human spirit.
You work the form effortlessly, Bjorn, and the story you tell so clearly, I can see him. I hope for blessings for him, too.
“a corpse escaped to safety of sorts” is so powerful I can see his empty eyes.
Such a beautiful form – it’s lilting and summer’s breath will hopefully heal him.
what a run in with that one across the aisle….nasty work, those landmines…often left behind after wars to claim the future as well…
You did good with the form, Bjorn. I think this second one is harder than the first. Land mines have always been a sore in my usual thinking of more pleasant thoughts. They do terrible damage to one.
..
Good job. K. N
No n intended, on mobile device. Thanks. K.
Your ending is magic! Great job on this one… Love it!
So many living corpses left after war —
beautifully written.
War leaves us mangled in and out; emotional zombies yearning for brain wipes.
This was so sad… and so necessary.