I was going through a rough period of my life
Although nothing was particularly amiss
I just felt that the very essence of history was under threat
And that I was witnessing its slow destruction
This happened again to me today as I was crossing an old airfield
That had unrestricted views over the sea and the nearby countryside
In the corner of the field I noted a pathetic drunk staring blankly into the sky
When I thought of all the brave airmen who had been based here
I felt angry for them that their memories were being soiled
By the little man who was sitting hunched on small bench half hidden by the trees
It was then that my wife told told me that the poor man was witnessing the light
A light that I could not see no matter how hard I tried as my obsession with history
Had blinded me and was slowly taking me into a darkness of my own creation
She suggested that I forget about the ghosts on the past and the history present
And quietly make my way to the coastal road where I might find a certain peace