Appeal Unheeded
Helmet shed, face upturned
Towards his enemy,
Or perhaps to his God?
Vacant, yet certainly
Pleading, needing
Mercy. But from whom?
His enemy’s, or his God’s impending doom?
Reclining, inclining
Towards an uneasy truce
With his enemy, or perhaps his God?
Right hand loose upon butt of rifle, grounded,
Boots’ scarred hobnails worn and rounded;
Left hand grips wound, or maybe his heart,
For he now cannot distinguish his enemy, or his God apart…
Pete Ray
1st World War Memorial at Les Vans, France.
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