Armour

He is only a man.
A new cuirass encircles the chest and  wound which is still beating.
Trembling fingers lift the gilded helmet and
Slide it over his head.
He looks up to the weeping willow tree,
Seeing the long, strands of leaves flowing downward
Like hair.
Two thicker branches reach toward the sky
With small twig fingers,
Grasping air.
He stares for a moment
Then clenches his eyes shut
As tight as his fists.
His fingers are covered by the gauntlets.
Skin doesn't feel skin anymore.
He begins walking again,
but feet move slowly in the metal soulieres.
Each step is smaller,
Harder
Until he falls
In the perfect, polished armor
And fails to rise.
(c) 2008 Maria Rachel Hooley.  All Rights Reserved.