The navy and the white

Clang the door handle steels
an embrace of welcome to navy
help, watering a soul with
cleansing, but dilute with 
aid, this clear tonic to cancer.

Is there anything at all that
can make you better that we
have not placed, secured,
chilled - the halls - white the
night dares sound to pierce.

But navy help comes, in form
of dispensary, but still pills
fly across to water to vital 
forms of measure, pressure
to bear on plain bodies.

The white knocks, guarding
the door, the illness retreats
as daily he trumps the castle,
knowing the counts, the bloody
remains of fights gone by.

And so as white knights, 
briefing the king, or those 
injured in battle, for fluids, 
for a short stay of calm before 
sabers peel open guts, jousting for
rights to heal.

Darker the navy approaches,
warning of pills taken or not -
the orders of the night - vital
for blood, fortification, manning
turrets, blazing in battle, so it
would seem to prevent.

And the smile, the disposition
does prevent or add to 
confidence of position, of
strategic advantage - of mind
over sterile, chill, sensible beds
waiting for healing.

They the navy, seeing to calls,
to dozens, to fluid calmly 
taken or fed or otherwise
unknown, to ask the recipe
is to want more than a source
of clear brooks, rivers.

Of white, solemn is the brook
as it lives and fights for rights
to castles, to moats and bridges
and whoever could say it or
you are better or will take 
the castle.

© 2013 Larry Ingram