A poem inspired by the poppies.

A descent into remembrance as I join the army of commuters at Waterloo

Poppies lay strewn before me like leaves beneath a naked November tree

I see a man in a pristine moss green uniform whose bravery is beyond my comprehension

Some can't look him in the eye for fear that they might see what he has seen

The commuters are summoned to the platform like soldiers ordered to go over the top - both with a destination - but it’s only the commuters who make it

How many lives were saved by the fallen? How many wives are left behind?

The passengers charge towards the train then fight their way to a seat.

The pellets of poison reign, killing in our name

How can war ever be glorious when it leaves such scars?

 


Submitted: October 30, 2013

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Bert Broomberg

Very good subject, very good imagery, good observations.

Sun, November 3rd, 2013 12:30am

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