A POEM ABOUT WORLD WAR 1 FOR REMEMBRANCE SUNDAY...

 Where He Yearned To Be…

“Each day it astounds me,

Despite all that surrounds me:

The destruction and horror around here,

The numbing hate that abounds here;

I can see, I can feel,

I’m still me, I’m still real

But home is where I yearn to be…”

The shivering calm of quivering nights,

The sudden exposure beneath Very lights;

The chaos, the deception,

With no chance of redemption,

For this trooper who has relinquished all of his rights…

The dimming gleam of wavering time,

The sodden decomposition beneath trench grime;

The pathos, the desperation,

The perchance of repatriation

For this soldier who has extinguished lives deep in slime…

The galling sadness of apportioning blame,

The sordid eradication of hope for the lame;

The blindness, the decapitation,

The murmured chants of dissatisfaction

From this veteran who has vanquished all hope in the game…

“Each day it astounds me,

Despite all that surrounds me:

The destruction and horror around here,

The numbing hate that abounds here;

I can see, I can feel,

I’m still me, I’m still real

But home is where I yearn to be…”

Pete Ray

BELOW IS MY PATERNAL GRANDFATHER & UNDERNEATH THE POEM'S TITLE, ON A CHAIR IN THE CENTRE OF THE IMAGE, IS MY MATERNAL GRANDFATHER...