Remembrance Day

A pallid light demystifies this dawn
but not the cause of war. The silence loud,
the sky is bruised with blood of those who fought
and died. I feel the chill of vapoured death
that dampens names engraved upon the cross
on this cold morn, as we remember them,
the serried ranks entrenched against their fear.
My father’s Croix de Guerre upon my chest,
I struggle to remember him, again
constructing tales from silences inferred,
for these were days of which he never spoke.
He wore them though, upon his shadowed brow
and in his eyes, when his quick wit could not
conceal a deeper shade of sullied brown,
a memory of war, that final war
to end all wars, they said. He wished it so.

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