God looked down,
at the carnage of Life;
caused by folly,
of mere mortal Generals.
The trenches dug
by the sweat of many.
Filled with bodies,
that were the Seeds of Youth:
for the generations of Nations.
Serving now as only plowed furrows;
In the fields of the dead.
All this He saw;
the waste of mankind,
the futility of War;
and He wept.
Such was His grief,
that His tears rained down.
Churning the ground into mud;
until the ugly scars of war,
were covered.
He caused the Poppy to grow there;
with leaves of haigh green ;
a hue rarely seen.
The petals were blood red,
as ran the fields of the dead.
The centre was black,
the colour of mourning.
To remind us all,
"Lest we should forget."
Some only remember,
for two minutes,
on a Sunday in November.
During the service from the Cenotaph...
Many don't remember then.
~Dusti Rodes
U.K.
~Beannaichte'*
@beannaichte.twitter.com
@beannaichte.twitter.com
9 September, 2013
* Dusti is a fellow writer and poet. He has left several of his timely offerings in the comment section of my blog.
I appreciate the opportunity to share his work, on this format. His words are well-honed, yet have the amazing ability to draw the reader in, at a soul-level-always strong and true.
The above work can be located in the comment section, dated 5 September, 2013.
Dusti can be found on Twitter @dusti_rodes.twitter.com
