We have reached that portal of sadness

adorned with emblems of grief

Memorials, monuments and the Menin Gate

Few now remember or are connected

to human slaughters fading into the past

Bugles sound to replace gunfire and sirens

Bowed heads in silence to replace steel helmets

The future promises nothing better

as the repetitive cycle of war gathers momentum

A tree in the shade of the sun

as birds of hope sing of eternal promise

We are caught in a trap of misery

Mountains of grandeur, an oasis in the desert

an ocean of hope, a garden of tranquility

How can we be custodians of such beauty

or be humble before all we see

whilst we find reasons to be destructive

The animals of the forest, the birds of the air

they are free for all to see

transparent in their natural habitat

no shred of deceit, malice or corruption

We have marred this gift of creation by our self will

We are to blame for all our ills and what is now laid waste

◄ My High Street

The Rat Race ►


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Wolfgar Miere

Sat 4th Nov 2017 22:38

Well said Keith, yes indeed we are to blame, yet still we exalt ourselves and our ruinous histories.


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