Remembrance in November grows repellent each year we rob it further of its sense by hunting down objectors to compel them to stand in line or cause a grave offense. No private contemplation or reflection when strident shrieks of nationhood prevail Un-poppied collars count as insurrection a slight to every brave, red-blooded male. Division, thumping drums and waving banners the media wades in with guns ablaze forgetful of respect, or simple manners – that’s not how we conduct ourselves these days If this is what our fallen heroes wanted I wonder why the cenotaph is haunted.
We cannot know what sent the soldiers hither or claim the fallen courage of the fight think boys who marched to foreign fields together were simple symbols drawn in black and white If we could rise above the spite and chatter We’d find unbordered bonds and understand that shells and bullets lacked the strength to shatter the looking glass that straddled no man’s land From timid chaps to lunatic berserkers we canonise the men who heard the call if wives had had the power to shoot deserters there never would have been a war at all. Let’s render restless spirits more forgiving: to honour best the dead, honour the living.