Steel Angel by Jay

Text and illustration graphic ©Jay Hayes-Light.
Any copying or publication without
his written permission is strictly prohibited.

This poem is considered, by the author, to be the turning-point of whatever
had been written before and all that has been written since. It marks a
"rite of passage" from one world to the next.

It summarises the anguish and cold fear associated with severe injury and
disability. The author moved, in the space of one gentle, early Summer's
day, from an active being, claiming independence as a right to one who has
had to fight for equality and independence ever since. The reference to
"darkened halls" and "figures in white" recalls another re-occurring dream,
dredged from the author's life as a fit and active individual pursuing the
great physical and cerebral passion - Fencing - "a ballet of blades".

The scent of faded flowers is an abiding memory of waking up in a hospital
room where one's sense of smell and sight were the only intact
sensibilities. Just as in drowning, memories of childhood and life flash by
in moments such as these, when there does not seem to be a future to aspire
to.

Echoes of petals filled the room..
     a white room, bright with grief.
Thoughts lingered around the lamp..
     like moths around a flame.
Echoes of many, mourning the few..
     on dark roads, wet with fear.
Memories of falling, clutching at straws..
     I am innocent and shoulder the blame, whilst
Echoes of passion are fearful and tame.
Echoes of petals, borne on the breeze..
     a far away window, framing the sky.
Voices for faces, drifting away..
     down years of recalling
Echoes of children, running free..
     down fields of endeavour into the void.
Touching by listening to silence unfold..
     curling down corridors escaping from me, those
Echoes of longing for what cannot be.
Echoes of petals starting to fade..
     doubting, remembering if I ever was me,
Whilst a stranger invades a familiar face..
     and traitorous limbs to defection succumb.
Echoes of maybes fall to the floor..
     to mingle with promise's dust.
Sweep up the past in giant hands and..
     scatter its ashes for others to find, where
Echoes of sorrows in silence are blind.
Echoes of metal down darkened halls..
     figures in white, a ballet of blades.
Touche & riposte in challenge we die..
     salute the conqueror, honour the mask.
Echoes of scoring, counting & moving..
     through foil-sharp sunlight into the realms
Of empty space, staring at time's
     kaleidoscope diary, missing a day and
Echoes of petals, dying away.

This is a small version of Jay's illustration -
to see the original in full size [48k]
click on the graphic.

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