Poem -
Wreath Rubbish
Solemn, sinister wreath rubbish.
At eleven a.m, I sat in silence, alone
And thought of the sixteen million
Who never found their way home.
The shame of war falsely sold,
No gallantry found in a Flanders Fields hole,
Nor in the pain of loss, the shell shocked
Oblivion into which the state cast their souls.
And wonder what they would say now.
Does our freedom of choice - and what choice it is -
Warrant the sacrifice they made?
Can such a debt as we owe to those people
Ever truly be repaid...?
And does the wreath laying obfuscate the truth,
That systems always lie and break
The backs of their brightest youth?
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Comments
Hi T, this is a thought provoking poem and in short, the answer to your question...
To me is no. I don't think I debt like that can ever be repaid. To answer your question further...
WreathΒ laying is tradition and a greatly symbolic one but perhaps doesn't reflect the losses. (I can't think of a better way, by the way)
But systems do lie and break the backs of their greatest youth. I wonder how many bank managers were called up during the first world war?
Different topic altogether, but I look at the recession. The rich bankers caused it yet the poor peasants had to pay for it by austerity. Figure that one out.
Great writeΒ - SydΒ
Thanks Syd, really appreciate you taking the time to read the poem and comment on it....especially pleased you found it thought provoking (and by and large I agree with your response). Cheers
T