Do you think they felt the weight of history
pissing down in the drizzling sea spray
or when pulling on their mudded boots
that trod and fought through blood and clay

The fingers that caressed old photographs
were the same that clawed and scraped the skies
their last wept tears streaked ashen cheeks
as they left their deadened eyes

Were their grotesque withered bodies treated
solemnly and kind
or tossed as cannon fodder
in the trenches dug behind

Do you think their brothers cried for them
or resigned themselves to meet
and secretly reached out to them
to embrace their own defeat

And how can we in all truth now
profess to know their pain
and promise we’ll remember them
when the drums beat hasn’t changed

© Wolfgar 2018