November

 

We reach a heavy purple velvet curtain

which appears to stand in our way

It beckons us forward into a darkened chamber

Inside it is cold and damp

The walls are festooned with the names of the dead

All Souls

We search for our kith and kin but in vein

The names are innumerable

In the distance the muffled sounds of gunfire

the dull thud of explosions

Silhouettes of people running to and fro

Fear and tears stand united

An obelisk comes into view

Names of the fallen in neat rows

Number rank and name

Regiments and ships long since forgotten

We peer forward to see images of suffering with destruction

A litany of endless conflicts

Decades of war, graves in regimented lines

Then another heavy purple curtain

It is drawn aside to reveal a day

of commemoration and remembrance

The Queen stands before the Cenotaph