I am the oak bent or' and aged
That once stood brave as natured raged
the lines were drawn the battle staged
and man with time compassion caged

I am the field scarred by each track
that shared the weight of soldiers pack
and too felt pain from shell and flak
and those gone forth no more came back

I am the breeze scented with death
as noxious gas inhaled as breath
sent young men blind without the f
and yet their leaders ears were deaf

I am the rain washed or their blood
and roused the poppies from their bud
to honour all whom fought for good
but died before they ever should

I am the cross the epitaph
the stolen kiss the chance to laugh
when young men walked the broken path
of anguish and the aftermath

I am the note that says beware
tread lightly here with tender care
for fresh eyed boys with features fair
bore arms for you now your weight bare

I am the oak with shrapnel scars
that guides their souls to waiting stars
where commoners prop up the bars
toasting their faith with three hoorars

This habitual
Hypocritical ritual
Keeps me cynical
The biggest battle's internal
A raging war roaring eternal
To vile for an example
Dying inside is literal
Allowing the visual
To be topically minimal
Though the condition is critical
A pitiful cry for help comes out in a trickle
Subliminal and lyrical
The unusual becomes typical
With the refusal of a label
There's no removal of the painful
Every attempt has been futile
Life is miserable
When love is conditional

©2024