Here lies ahead our road to freedom*
Cracked deep beneath our blistered toes
Seeped full with red and black ink
that had once painted the shades of propaganda.
Our boots, soulless and worn like hearts of lead
leaked blood-stained fear and red-raw dread.

The path ahead of stone and ice stretched on
for decades... or was it days?
Time was the beat of marching men.

Through the thick yellow fog, we spluttered, cursed blind,
and choked on the calls of fallen heroes whose
cries grew distant with every staggered step.

Beneath the ghostly glare of shattered street lights, we trudged
on and on.
Until our ankles, raw and bruised
buckled beneath our weights;
Down onto the ice to sooth sore limbs
and stifle the scorn
that droned on the wind.

We will not surrender. This day
we are men with visions of glory that glow beyond golden gates
and wait for us in old age. But not today.

Today we make history;
So that one day when I sit my granddaughter on my knee
I can tell her why she, her grandpa and her country are free.