I STAND BELOW THE WIRE AND WAIT.

I stand below the wire and wait, I shake with fear and still I wait.

In times before I was not so, in days gone by I’d plant and sow

Gardens fair, fields of green, Rolling Meadows tilled and clean.

All my dreams now lost no one to tell the things I’ve seen.

I stand below the wire and wait for the whistle to blow my place to take.

Amongst my friends from near and far, from rolling glens and gleaming spars.

From mills and towns, from valleys and spires, villages and hamlets proud as fire.

I stand below the wire and wait my place I’ll take I’ll brave the fire.

Through the fields of mud and death and pain, though I may die my soul to remain.

Upon these fields of war and passion, I’ll still refrain from life’s lost hope,

And at the end shall know no hope.

I wait below the wire and wait, the whistle blows my place I take.

Over the top into the hell, screaming, dying, mothers names,

Cry’s of pain friends I see, lost in the red that stains the green.

A man runs by a face I see, he turns and screams the face is me.

When at the last the end is nigh, the silence screams across the sky,

The empty words of comfort fall, upon us all that stand alone.

In empty fields now tilled and green,

who would believe what we have seen.

I am now old, old and wise, the screaming’s stopped the tears have dried,

And I have lived where so many died no rhyme or reason just surprise.

I see their faces in the night, they call me home, they call me higher.

I must leave and say goodbye, time to leave behind hills and spires, and be at peace, to bank my fires.

I stand below the wire and wait..................................................................

Marc Ceeney

11.11.11