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EIDOLON

The

Walt Whitman High School's Literary Arts Magazine ✮

To Dawn by Ian Bailey

Mar 4, 2025

1 min read

The PTSD, he

Heads like a herald

To dawn his new clothes

In the iridescence

Of a pit

Edged into me

Like a hook

Caught in the gills

Of a fish

I am torn into

A new coat, a pair of jeans

And with the new clothes, he’s

Like a pharaoh

In my skin

My skin’s a pharaoh’s

When it’s on him

My head is filled with glory

Shillingless

Like a fountain

Where no one wishes

My mouth is music

Pouring out

Onto him

Unto PTSD

Him now soaked

From the oil of my skin

From the water in the fountain

And the music from my mouth

He’s soaked, like a child

In a church

Till he is

Sitting in the pulpit

Hearing my words

And I live for the day

The day I’ll dawn a new skin

And I'll walk like Napoleon

Stomping around him

And I live for the day

The day I’ll conquer I

And dawn new clothes, leather hides

till I shed his skin awry

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