Colin F. Jones

THE PASSING OF SOLDIERS

A kaleidoscope of emotions set the scene,
Sins form the cobblestones across the stream,
To reach the other side is the dream,
And death, the water, flows in between.
And where the edge of vermilion starts
Along the horizon of silver, night departs,
And the soldiers of peace awaken to war,
And watch God’s Sun the new day restore.
Great silence transpires like a sanctioned prayer,
The guns waiting passively strewn everywhere.
The desert dusts disperse and waste away,
Leaving the landscape a dark and ghostly grey.
And men advance as the world asks why,
Into the jaws of death to do or die.

The thunder rumbles in the distant sky,
The lightning flashes that bye and bye,
The cruel missiles of the desperate foe,
Attack the advancing warriors wherever they go.
Some fall from the stones into the stream,
To drown in agony and with a scream,
While yet some reach the far off bank,
With grateful hearts their brothers to thank.
But the dream has gone, though the battle was won,
Oh God! Oh God! What have we done?
We have stained the dream with blood and gore,
And found our peace in horrific war.
That leaves our soldiers (those who survived)
With festering wounds down deep inside.

We all look back and know that our fate,
Lies where our memories all congregate,
But before we all fall into death’s foul stream,
We share the consequences of our lost dream.
For death for us will be slow to come,
First life must torture us; have it’s fun,
For still as veterans we are linked with pride,
And with our loving thoughts to those who died.
But we take it all square on the jaw,
As we have always done during peace or war,
And stand up strong to face life’s foe,
That grows daily in our hearts you know’
And slowly, slowly eats our bodies away,
That they, with our buddies far off, decay.