Colin F. Jones


Now in the distance Thor doth wield his hammer,
The heavens roar; lightning flashes stammer.
The soldiers wait; mothers wait and wives,
With little children pray for their husband’s lives.
In low sky new stars in violence glimmer,
While far below burnt out bunkers simmer,
And people gone, resembling tiny flies,
Move through the air with the echoes of their cries.
The silence sleeps while bedlam has her way,
Blasting loveliness and all peace away.
Shattered streets filled with pain and woe
Crimson gutters where the blood doth flow…
The soldiers raise the armour form their line,
Ok men it’s time, it’s time, it’s time.