The silent lament weighed heavy on us
as we took leaden steps forward
over the carpet of death at our feet.
Lament for love lost, the opportunity cost
of ‘Your Country Needs You’
the finger pointing, an accusation aimed for the heart
mirrored now by the blasted tree trunk
and the broken spire
piercing the cloud-laden sky.
What sons, what daughters will never be born?
What sons, what daughters will be wasted in the mud and spilled guts at our feet?
Hours, and days, spent waiting, ribs near-breaking
in the silence
broken only by our breathing
and the scratch of pen on paper
a letter to Mother, to dear Daisy, the love of my life
to while away, to wish away
the terror, lurking, a great carrion crow over our heads
its black wings our mourning shroud
It’s 100 years since the Battle of the Somme. I have just seen a very moving video on my Facebook feed, via Channel 4 news – it inspired me to write this poem. I hope you can see it if I leave the link.