Message in the Bottle

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An interpretation of Simon Armitage's 'The Manhunt'



The nights of fire and days of sun

Yet still in my ears, the spark of a gun,


In memory alone do those battle fields exist

Attempting to run from their clutches and resist,


Today, I eat and feel the throb in my jaw

The once broken bones in my now muzzled maw


Today, I stretch and wince at the pop

That sound was once of a broken collar


Today, I reach over and find the scars on my arms

Proof that I lived. Proof that I broke.


Breathing in the summer air, my lungs smile.

They're not drenched in fire.


Breathing in the aroma of dinner, my ribs sigh.

They're no longer bound by soaked scarlet cotton.


No longer do I feel ashamed,

Of the fact that I was once maimed.


No longer am I the man,

Who once cowered at the face of men.


My arm rises to salute,

But is brought back down to shake.


I trace the scar of my chest.

The same very one that let me rest


Without it, I would still be in battle

Confining it all in a bottle.


I fall asleep after a day of fun,

But still in my ears, the spark of a gun.

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