The grandfather who'd Rather drink

Nothing here
where ashen blackens eyes with fear
Hills bury this land like warriors of old
in tales untold
Whence the sky rains
rain till morrow remains

Hands of the wind hold disdain
for all the cowards in vein
Paper planes paralyzed in time
where freedom is a crime

This is listed under love poems because I wrote this for my grandfather who fought in WW2, though he was a wife-beating narcissist and an emotionally abusive alcoholic, his achievements in war times should be recognized somewhat. A craftsmen by trade and a no nonsense kinda man, these traits allude me entirely, except the alcoholism. Though I always admired his vigor. Mum told me a story about him "After he had a second stroke he started losing the use of his hands, this was very troubling to him as he spent his whole life a hardworking tradesmen/hard man, gran once caught him out in the shed with a chainsaw and has to wrestle it off him as he quoted "I have no ****** use for these things anymore why not cut them off!!" He died looking out the window at the roadside.