THE HANDS OF TIME
Copyright © Geoff Allnutt (The Speech Painter) 1999

 

Making my way down a street thick with fear
Opening my stride to better tame the distance
Vulnerable emotional my resolution slips away
As I struggle for the path of least resistance
Dying for a rest well I've got to die one day
Old age is not a choice death is walking here

All around cold voices haunt taunt and tease
Lullabies of hatred ring out across the sky
Worried confused I must not forget to breathe
Allow myself the luxury of a self indulgent sigh
Ye though I walk into loss I shall not grieve
Stepping more steadily I push back a freeze

In Midhurst a man walks his home town in dread
Near Ypres mud swallows life to cough up dead

Moving parts assembled with rehearsed precision
Oiling and freeing the grime covered spring
The routine takes me from matters more pressing
I dread the news and what today could bring
Opinion and rumour are more and more distressing
Nobody is informed of a single sane decision

My mind is out of balance and longing for sleep
Only snatched seconds keep me free from despair
Valour clad career boys have already gone
Armed with their beliefs and have died over there
Dying last words and their mementos passed on
Onto their loved one who read them and weep

A storm of grief looks for its victims to blame
loss takes years to find its own words to say
Waste does not sit easy in most of our hearts
Anger deals much quicker with those in its way
Young blood runs the fastest whenever war starts
Stirring the anguish on both sides the same

In Ypres a private battles a shell shock starts
Numb in Midhurst a watchmaker slowly falls apart

Midday passes and yet more pain beckons
Outrage flows through me yet I remain still
Taken over by whispers I'm crushed by each lie
Incessant barrages deafen me from baritone to shrill
Officialdom makes terms and I'm forced to comply
Nervous and exhausted I can kill only seconds

Adjusting my watch I synchronise the time
Luminous fingers point to this passing hour
Waiting for silence to descend in my mind
All advancing minutes are brackish and sour
Yowling their menace as I begin to unwind
Snaking out before me lies a deadly thin line

In Midhurst he hangs from a length of clock wire
Near Ypres his glinting watch draws snipers fire
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Motionless but for a very slight sway
Open mouth agape locked in curse or prayer
Twisted and contorted the wire cuts in deep
Incisions of steel burn through the despair
Of us broken down men in Midhurst and Ypres
Namesakes in death at the close of this day

 

 

N.B. Movado is a manufacturer of watches and their watch made for military use in WW1 is
a design classic.

Movado is Esperanto for 'always in motion'.