I want to sit here,
Amongst these tombstones.
Some have names,
Some that don't.
Unknown soldiers,
Lives incomplete,
Loves lost and won,
Some too young
To have known or done
Other than that
Which they were told,
With blast of brass
And beat of drum.

I want to understand
Or at least feel
What this place means
Not just for me,
For all humanity.
People drive by here every day
In a rush -
In such a hurry
To be on their way.
Eyes fixed in front,
No time to dwell
Upon this field
of mundane hell.

Yet I feel drawn,
And I want my sitting here
to have some purpose
Other than my need to rest.
Perhaps I can reach
The soldier on that misty morn
As he found out
That he'd been fooled.
To hold his hand
whilst blood's red pool
dries chocolate
aside this broken tool.
What once was a healthy lad
Lies now in useless ruin,
An empty memory
of hopes and bones,
The soldier fooled.

And with dying breath
His spirit soars,
His body sagging idle.
Broken, empty and forsaken.
A record is written,
In a book
Leather bound,
Shelved long ago,
Perhaps to be found
Someday by someone
Who may be moved,
But who will ever know?

The sun sets.
I see each shadow
Lengthen and stretch,
As it slowly leans
Towards the next.

Here they all lie together,
Although for sure
They died alone and apart,
Unaware of who their neighbour is,
Let alone the wound
He carried in his heart.
This is a place
Of human pain and grief,
Of gaping loss
And tearful memory.
'If only' and 'what if'
Have no meaning
In this brutal truth.
And those that survived,
With what were they left,
But an imprint so deep
That it will leave
Its mark on a child
Not yet alive,
Nor even thought of?
Not even centuries
Will erase the mark
Left by consequence,
Whose bloody stain remains
In permanence.

And as colours gold
morph into greys so cold
I sit with these forgotten souls
Whose great mistake
Was just to do
As they were told.

They were sold the story
That to die for glory
Was noble and bold,
Whilst others of high rank
Hid studiously
Behind leather capped mahogany
And supped their port,
Cigars in hand
With hearts so dark
They dared not look
At where their conscience
Sought to roost.
Is this the power that they seek,
The strength to send another
to do their dirty work?
To prove one is a patriot
One must become the fodder
Of the ego of the idiot,
He who wins the vote,
has given strongest promises
whilst scheming
just the opposite?

As darkness falls
I understand
the path we take
Towards this end.
Yet I'm left asking,
Why do we descend
Into these traps again?
Voting left or right
as we have defined,
cannot move forwards,
just side to side.
To break new ground
We'll need to find
The silent whisper
That lies inside.

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