Poem of the Week

THEY DO FORGET

Deep in the trenches covered in dirt,
Cold with fear, as the boom and blast light up the sky,

Bayonets in our shaking hands, over the top to our certain death
bodies strewn across the field of mud, poppies coated red from our blood 

For what ?, I ask,
To let the dealers conquer the dark,
To let society degrade our name,

As they do forget and don't understand,
The hand we played in their freedom.

Whatever divisions existed before two world wars
This is nothing compared to the divisions we have in our family today.

Does this selfish world need a war to clear it of its scars ?
Will love, charity and hope exist again ?
Or will the battles we fought be in vain
Forever a memory of those that were slain.       

James Larkhill.