D-Day 75

 
I stood with the old men on the beach of harsh memories
Their past out of reach to me; history only they can see.  
Looking back to the great attack
Landing craft abeam and abaft spilling fearful, determined men
Into blood churned waters of destruction
The waves, the undertow’s suction  
Dragging comrades to their doom, men who only hours ago talked of home
Smoking and nervously joking
Thinking of loved ones left behind, their children crying as they are dying
Bullet pierced, torn by shrapnel shards or sinking down to drown
The helpless watch the hapless die, no time to cry,  
Machine guns clatter, bodies shatter, men scatter. No deflection, same direction
On., on up the death-scoured, hate-showered beach  
To reach the dreaded pillbox, to end forever its malevolence
I watched my friend, saw his teardrops fall upon that sand,  
Seventy-five years are gone, in memory, dead comrades live on
Peoples of this land thank him and others, forever brothers
Joined by their suffering shared, grateful of their life spared
Visiting graveyards, endless rows, some god alone knows who they were, they care
“Known only unto God” the tombstone read, Was it our Jonny, Bill or Fred?
Yet pain-filled eyes do not despise their former enemy, for that place, too,
Was their Gethsemane  
Ninety-four years old he stands, erect, a sad but proud man He played his part
In this cruel war, hell’s creation that tore at the heart of the nation  
We turn as parades pass, The great and the good of our land
Pretend to understand, yet those who were there do not
Bugles call, flags are raised, the old men praised  
It will happen again but we know not when
Will we ever hear of war’s Amen?