War Graves
I’m sure they didn’t mean to finish here.
They once were young men; they are still today.
Time has not aged them; boyish souls outlive
Their mortal frames, long since dissolved to dust.
Each pristine grave is their nobility,
A passport to well-deserved endurance.
From all around the hubs and spokes of Earth,
They came and died from homelands far away,
In Britain and the loyal Commonwealth.
But also here a group of local men:
Resistance heroes, gunned down in cold blood,
Betrayed by some informer to the foe.
None of them pretend to be our betters;
This modest conservation is enough.
Stephen Gospage
Wed 17th May 2023 21:53
I would like to thank ZTC Space, Manish, Keith, John B, John C, Telboy and Graham for your kind and interesting comments. This poem came about following a visit to a cemetery in Oostduinkerke, in Flanders on the Belgian coast. The neat, tended graves of British and Commonwealth soldiers (and sailors and airmen), along with the memorial to the executed Resistance heroes, gave these ordinary men great dignity but also seemed to magnify the horror of the war which led to their death. We say ‘no more war’ but we don’t seem to know how to stop it. I understand that there are huge civilian casualties in modern war, but there is something especially poignant about the young (mostly) men whom nation states send to their doom, or often throw on the scrapheap if they survive.
Thank you all once again.
My thanks to Nigel, Kevin, Rudyard and Leon for liking this poem.