Dominic Stevenson – Crawling Home

Crawling Home

Illuminated by the tar black sky,
I built our road
on hands and knees,
hoping to reach you in the dawn.

Crawling back from the battlefield,
I had to find my way.
After the punches in the chest
from disturbed mud and root,
the physical aching I suffer
of the kisses of misery
at the thought of you gone,
is almost light relief.

We’d only share a life of conversation
in silence,
you too tentative to pry
and me too broken for
an eternity of your love to stick back together.

You knew the best of me.
But I have become a shell,
a weapon of war,
with a tea light candle flickering inside
that will live on,
burning bright
for a thousand years.

I’m not a building man
but a packhorse in distress,
and when the first flickers of sun warm my torn uniform,
I’ll be cold and stay cold,
but think of me kindly and often.



Dominic Stevenson is an English-born writer with his roots in the post-industrial north of England. His aim is to take part in the global discussions surrounding societal, gender, sexual and educational equality.
His first collection, The Northern Line, is due out in 2015. His poetry and short stories have been published in a range of print and online publications including Litro Magazine, City Lit Rag, Forward Poetry, The Cadaverine and Spontaneity Arts Journal.