flashy, facades, free, takeover, destruction, power, despots, low, hope, heart, hold, how
Lone Pine
"Old men declare war.
But it is youth that must fight and die."
-- Herbert Hoover
The bugle plays ‘Last Post’.
Many wear medals—
Pinned over their hearts,
Not flashy, just proud and reflective.
Some of them hold photos,
All remember.
◊
He stands apart,
Pondering the destruction
That lead to the scene
Unfolding before him—
The loss of lives,
The façade of righteousness,
The display of power,
The despots fought and beaten.
But what leader is not a despot
If given the chance?
They attend these events,
Take over the role of defender
With platitudes of hope and freedom—
But are less forthcoming
On how we arrived at this point,
This low point of human failing.
Few remember.
◊
A minute’s silence.
The bugle moves the soul,
But not the memory.
Reveille.
But we sleep on.
The errors repeat.
Few question why.
Best we remember.
◊
Just a Thought
ReplyDeletein response to “Lone Pine”
You write what the bugle can’t say—
that memory fades,
and ceremony alone won’t save us.
But still…
they marched through fear,
held the line in foreign soil,
carried their mates when legs gave out.
They weren’t fighting for politics—
they fought for the one beside them.
For home.
For us.
We stand in silence,
but do we truly see
the weight behind each medal,
the ache behind each smile?
“Best we remember,”
you said.
Yes.
Not just the war—
but the love,
the sacrifice,
the courage that asked for nothing in return.
Truth.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your comment and you show here great knowing and reflection too - Jae
ReplyDeleteI thought of writing on this topic today, but as I couldn't summon anything I'm glad you did! You've said it very, very well.
ReplyDeleteWhat struck me most about this piece wasn’t just the grief — it was the quiet anger. Not at the soldiers, but at those who sent them.
ReplyDeleteYes...they were sacrificed....they were wonderful diggers who stood by each other. We owe them and must never forget them. I heard tonight on a programme that one hundred and sixty thousand horses were sent to WWi...most of them were killed. Wars....they never end. Excellent poem.
ReplyDeleteThis is a poem that resonates deeply .... the young men and women so blithely dispatched to points unknown .... by old men who either do not remember .... or do not care. Thank you for writing this ~~~
ReplyDeleteA poem to ponder, to see truth in.
ReplyDeleteSome of the young men who were sent to be butchered wrote poems like yours about the "old lie": Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori... Lest we forget!
ReplyDelete