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
Great piece Steve
ReplyDeleteLess we forget indeed the sacrifice that they made for out today
Thanks Mark. Your own poetry on this topic surpasses mine infinitely. I'm eagerly looking forward to reading your collection "11" when it arrives.
ReplyDelete