Reflections of a Mortal light

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This write is about WW1. The battle of Messines Ridge in Belgium saw the biggest explosion ever created by man up to 1945. The significance of this probably gave birth to later atrocities such as Hiroshima. The battle took place in June 1917 but the unseen chambers containing the explosives were started in 1916 creating 19 explosions which could be heard in London.

Submitted: August 31, 2012

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Submitted: August 31, 2012



Peaceful are the water lilies in flower

The ripples of contentment belong to the fish

and quiet is the grass that has healed this scene.

Lone tree crater is a ghost from the past

and it is here where God and Devil,

did put their differences aside.

To shed tears for man’s insanity.


The year is 1917

and life and death is measured

in corpses left behind on land now forgotten.


This crater born one of 19,

its first cry ordained in 445 tons of explosives.

A mythical being stamping each footstep

across the Messines Ridge,

silencing life in its wake.


A roar of death that can be seen by all,

troops are but wild animals caught in the headlight of its gaze,

helpless and forsaken with nowhere to run.


10,000 Germans with no grave,

their bodies vaporised.

Delivered by blue clay tunnel

Under the lines by British miners brave.

Though German pride would disagree.


Up above the mortars creep a relentless path

and down the ridge the British are advancing.

But they are mortal men

and their bodies are but eggs thrown against steel.

Death is all around this day.


But in this war death is every day,

survival feeds on primal being.

Kill and kill again, he who falls short will die.

Reward lies in darkened sky under the stars

and a billet lined with mud


But death will not let the soldiers rest

and medals of tin will not protect.

Be glad of cigarette to calm the nerves,

be glad of letters from home,

for these are the memories of life.


And sanity dictates that all men are born to die,

this death that is inevitable,

allows these soldiers a few precious seconds

to realise a truth.

It is the Earth that owns the man.

The will of man cannot steal this.


And as the soldier falls their allegiance grows dark

another lover’s heart is broke

Mother’s womb will cry alone

while children’s hands hold on to father’s gift

for he cannot hug them anymore.


Choice was never theirs.

For choice is what masters give

and freedom has evaporated from soldiers mind,

While the lies of democracy fuels these bourgeoisie plans,

for power is everything.


Wars are made by so few a number.

Fear the man, who can inspire a country to kill millions,

and fear the man, who has found religion,

for your bullets can only add to his glory.

Messines Ridge twelve hours of bloody Glory and 50,000 dead

This smell of decay is a reminder to the living

Less they forget their duty to life.


And what of the 10,000

Who left their bones on their last step of mortality?

To wander this earth without a grave.

The bones of the elephant will always be loved

Can we say the same by them?


History has left us these waves of white marble,

proudly keeping the ranks of the dead in line.

Their ghosts are ready to march again

and in the rear the new recruits volunteer,

for war will always be with us.


Underneath every headstone there is a story.

Their colour and culture has melted away.

In death we reconcile our sins with mother earth,

war becomes irrelevant

and perhaps we are too.


But for those who believe

a life without memories has only just begun,

their pain has floated away.

The tears of the families will flow out to sea

and the rain will wash these stones

for the light will always win.


The youth of 1914 braved the dark,

obeyed the voice of country.

Brief was their time on earth

and silence was a glory that these men did not hear.

In death calm now descends upon their memories.

and we who tender their graves,

shall keep their story alive.

For we will remember them.

Wir warden uns an sie erinnern.

© Copyright 2018 steven cooke. All rights reserved.

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