A private reflection

When viewing a photograph of a statue at the new War Memorial, I felt inspired to pick up my pen and write a few words of private reflection.


A price paid
The sky hangs dark and heavy,
black smoke shields the sun,
bodies pushed beyond endurance
ache through lack of rest.
Feet heavy with blood soaked mud,
emotions torn to shreds,
minds numb and scarred for life.

A boy clings to his Mothers skirt,
looking, but not wanting to see
knowing, but not understanding.
Never understanding.
… a moments stillness
… a moments calm
… a moment to tend the wounded.
The body on the stretcher weighs heavy on heart and limb,
… another soldier on his way home
… another comrade fallen
… another husband lost forever
… another father taken away
… another price paid.

And on the wall, his name
and his name is followed by ten more,
and those ten, by a hundred more,
and those hundred, by a thousand more
tens of thousands of names,
… and we promise never to forget them?

And with perfect planning
and perceptive forethought,
blank walls await the names of thousands more,
thousands more ‘prices to be paid’.
…and we pray they wait forever.