We were there on both sides of the Somme
seeking our stories of gory glory.
We were there teaching our young to **** and bomb
whipping up feelings of sadistic fury.

We were there purifying the race
destroying the foreigner - leaving no trace.
We were there fighting the just war
til all that was left was just war.

He dashed across the beach,
The battery of guns barking like feral dogs.
Trudging through the red sand,
He looked left and right
As brothers fell one by one.
He woke up with a scream.
Never shall he forget 1944.

We are buried under the sand.
for us, no sun-kissed June day,
no moistness of a morning dew,
no soothing waves between our toes,
no jubilant trumpet to herald our return,
no voice to cheer freedoms new dawn,
we are forever buried under the sand.

© H V Swan

Tempestuous sky's so cold and dark,
where no bird flies save lonely lark,
'mongst the shadows, where coldness spreads,
stand sepia shapes of wooden sheds.

Oh whispering wind, what can you tell
of a life of terror and tormented hell
or torrid groans of sleepless souls
under public signs, nailed to poles.

Breath stained glass surrounds a child's shoe
an exhibit in a holocaust zoo.
Silenced bones can speak no guile
'mongst blackened ruins of brick and tile.

These broken spirits now must yield
to unmarked graves in an open field,
''O death where is thy sting ?''
'tis in the voice of these who cannot sing
and when we remember alone in the dark,
think of this place and the lonely lark.

© H V Swan

frailty falls upon terror
snowflakes banished from the sky
casualties from a hard forgotten war
still burns my retinas
their softness whispers as they melt
and find death upon my hardened skin
to soon unwritten,
but their love remains of no consequence
i fill my lungs with the fire that gave them life
failing to recall
the hope their tragedy no longer breathes
and lower my utterly spent weapon
weeping on torn, bleeding knees
realizing
there's
nobody left to listen
as i scream.

What of life and all that’s been,
Mine was stolen on a field of green,
For king and country, god and mum,
laid down in the shadows, never saw the sun.
100 years is mine to tell,
no comforting arms for those that fell,
I ask no pity, tears or plea,
Just once on a morn, remember me.