To Those Who Would Dishonour the Dead

 Apologia Pro Poemate Meo

I, too, saw God through mud– 

The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.
War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,
And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.

Merry it was to laugh there–
Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.
For power was on us as we slashed bones bare
Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder.

I, too, have dropped off fear–
Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,
And sailed my spirit surging, light and clear,
Past the entanglement where hopes lie strewn;

And witnessed exhultation–
Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,
Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,
Seraphic for an hour, though they were foul.

I have made fellowships–
Untold of happy lovers in old song.
For love is not the binding of fair lips
With the soft silk of eyes that look and long.

By joy, whose ribbon slips,–
But wound with war’s hard wire whose stakes are strong;
Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;
Knit in the welding of the rifle-thong.

I have perceived much beauty
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
Heard music in the silentness of duty;
Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.

Nevertheless, except you share
With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,
Whose world is but a trembling of a flare
And heaven but a highway for a shell,

You shall not hear their mirth:
You shall not come to think them well content
By any jest of mine. These men are worth
Your tears: You are not worth their merriment. 

Wilfred Owen

To Those Whow Would Dishonour the Dead

One single shot shattered fragile peace

and your country needs you,

needs you now,

needs you to spill your blood and guts on foreign soil.

There are empty places at the table,

lineage as broken as the beating hearts he left behind,

no progeny to bear his nose his chin his eyes. 

Do you remember him or does he lie forgotten?

There are those amongst us

who would have us turn our backs

against those sacrificial lambs that,

ripe for slaughter

fell to earth for king and country.

To you who wear proud

your badge of smug self-righteousness

I ask:

When they first come for the socialists, 
will you speak out?

Lest we forget;

know of those whose fallen bones

lie lost beneath the sod of foreign fields,

where poppies bleed in awful grief

and give gentle nod of reverence.

I will remember.

Anna

FIRST THEY CAME--

First they came for the communists,

and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a communist.

Then they came for the socialists,

and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists,

and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a trade unionist.

Then the came for me,

and there was no one left to speak for me.

Martin Niemöller

Remembrance Day is a memorial day to remember members of the armed forces who died in the line of duty.  It is not a glorification of war; it is a day to honour the dead.

Please don’t politicise it.

Also remembered, all civilian causalities and all those who through the death of civilians and armed forces personal were never born.

Image: courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author: Tijl Vercaemer from Gent, Flanders #Belgium)