Somme

Thousands lost
For no point or purpose,
Sent to their deaths
By pompous fools kept
Out of harm's way.

Enlisted men,
expendable, commodities,
Spent to purchase
A few yards of mud – worth
More than so many?

Each still corpse:
A future vanished,
A family ravaged,
And dreams undreamt;
Lost generations . . .

Each who survived:
A future blighted,
A family crippled,
A nightmare lived
For all their lifetime.

Remember those
Who gave their whole being
And think of all
Who may have been
Had they not died.

Think of conflict,
Weigh its inglorious cost,
Its pitiful gain.
In the name of all pity,
Find a better way.

Copyright © 2015 Desmond Hilary

Fallen

Fallen, and for what?
To save a continent
From the jack-booted heel.

For the lands of their allies
To be hammered and
Reaped by a blood-red Star?

Fallen, and for what?
To defend our liberty,
Our freedom from tyranny.

For their children to treat
Liberty as license, or embrace
Tyranny in the name of tolerance?

Fallen, and for what?
They fought for our lives,
By laying down their own.

They fought not for their world
But that we might build a better one:
What did we build?

Fallen, and for what?
Remember the Fallen and ask,
Are we worthy of their Sacrifice?

Could they but see what we became,
Would they, bemused, ask themselves,
Fallen, and for what?

Copyright © 2009 Desmond Hilary

For Remembrance Day, 11 November 2009

Remembrance

I’m glad I’ve never been to war,
To face the foe and try to kill
A man I’ve never met before
Who never yet has done me ill,
Whose only crime was done at birth:
Born in the wrong part of God’s Earth.

I’m glad I’ve never been to war,
To feed on rats, and lice sustain,
And scrape my flesh until it’s raw;
My guts of dysentery to drain;
To fear the crump of falling shells
And live in dread of man-made hells.

I’m glad I’ve never been to war,
Sent out against the enemy
By orders that are likely more
To be my end, to finish me:
To charge through mud with laboured breath,
Weighed down to stop me dodging death.

I’m glad I’ve never been to war,
To know the love of comrades dear
Who, borne on by esprit de corps,
Would give their lives to end my fear,
Or sing to lift my spirits high
When terrors brought the Reaper nigh.

I’m glad I’ve never been to war,
To watch my comrade’s final breath
Come bubbling through his blood-stained jaw;
To hear his pleading words at death
His mother call his hand to take
And lead him home, for Mercy’s sake.

I’m glad I’ve never been to war,
To see my friend, robbed of his sense,
A firing squad to stand before
His ‘cowardice’ to recompense.
No coward, he, whose mind was shot
By horrors that are best forgot.

I’m glad I’ll never go to war
And wish that none that path need take,
But those who must, who leave our shore,
Our peace to keep, for our Land’s sake,
They all a place of honour find,
Close to my heart, and in my mind.

Copyright © 2008 Desmond Hilary