Requiem

The madness of battle,

rapacious roar of conflict,

terrible in its bitterness and bite,

a feral snarl of discord.

Oh, the voracious appetite

of war; its implacable

ability to destroy, to utterly

obliterate each new generation!

A manmade hell; the falling shell.

Young hearts pound in fear;

young blood courses down into

red raw soil of the field,

drenching the world with

anguish and blind torment.

And still, into the fight

the soldiers march, encumbered by

authority, led by their own

valour, weighted down by

history, bedecked with the

future glories of gross futility. 

We shall remember them, we

shall weep for them and we

shall celebrate their sacrifice,

when each last post is called and

each last flag is lowered. 

But, as our memories fade

who shall, in their turn 

our own memories preserve?

Steve Wheeler © 3 November, 2021

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