大象传媒

The Shells are still coming over,
They whistle and then they explode,
I was blown in this smelly old ditch,
When one landed by me in the road,
I lay in the mud just eighteen years old,
Blood from the hole in my chest congeals,
As it slowly turns cold.

My leg lies on the top of the bank,
I glance at it again,
My wounds now, have all gone numb, I'm glad, There is no pain,
Memories of my childhood come into my mind,
Especially my parents, so gentle and kind,
The park near us where our gang always played,
The cottage by the sea where all the family stayed,
To lie on the beach and gaze at the sky,
And paint pictures in the clouds as they drift upon high,
I remember my first pay at Christmas,
I'd only just turned seventeen,
How proud I was of my parents,
My mother I thought was a Queen,
I bought Dad a brand new pipe,
And mother a lovely blue hat,
But sadly they never used them,
They died when a bomb hit the flat,
I want to scream, I try to shout,
Oh God! Tell me what this fighting's about,
Is it greed, or is it power,
Where is the peace, has the world gone sour,
I always say my prayers at night,
And give up things for lent,
Why did this have to happen to me,
Was a message from heaven just sent?

I cough, blood spurts, sleep seems to beckon me,
It grows dark, my lids are heavy I cannot see,
Now, a tunnel of light lays before me,
And peace seems all around,
No longer do I hear the sound of guns,
Or the shells as they hit the ground,
The whistle of over the top lads,
Or the cries of pain,
Am I going to another world,
Will I see my mother again,
So when this war is over,
And all the world is free,
I hope that someone, Down there, somewhere,
Will try to remember me, "Remember me".

This poem was submitted by a volunteer on behalf of David Noakes. David fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

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