I cannot stand to watch them leave, these proud
battle dressed men.
They stand so upright as though to caress the
heavens, on this grey unconscious day.
Khaki kit-bags plethora’s of profusion –
steadily marching onwards.
Designated destination still unknown!
How lonely they will fall
valiant to the last – emphatic one and all
on this, their ultimate ruination call.
Their life’s blood congealed pigmenting
this earth’s feudal terrain.
Sunken conical whites of eye –
eternally blinded to their final resting place.
Death amid some foreign vengeful soil –
declaring here; is where survival ends.
What worth existence now for Mothers, Daughters,
Sisters Wives, left to mourn such squander of life.
Will (you) tell them – at what point their man; a hero died?
You should have left them be – safe aside their loved ones.
I curse one thousand tidal malignancies despotic warmongers
amassed dead upon the shore.
For without my man – I am stitched undone.
The silences beyond his absence
numbs me –
Yes, I’ll sew, mend fix on labels
counts the seconds …
Only what – if: the next knock upon the door should be …?
What then – oh my Lord: what then!
Poppy March 2013