Underneath The Sky Poem by Denis Martindale

Underneath the sky, so high, the lands and seas remained,
And yet these sights must make God sigh, for some by blood were stained,
Men fought battles and men fought wars as if by these they gained,
Beyond the whys and the wherefores, when hate becomes ingrained.

From rocks to arrows, cast by bows, then came the spear and shield,
Yet from then on, God only knows, the deaths upon each field,
Then sweethearts, widows and Mothers, their hearts to sorrows yield,
For the fathers, sons and brothers, with tombstones now revealed.

It mattered not, if night or day, for armies still fought on,
Through win or lose, and come what may, until each life was gone,
Since war demands each drop of blood, each ray of hope that shone,
Dead armies, lifeless, mixed with mud, the stars must stare thereon.

Underneath the sky, so high, raindrops and snowflakes fall,
As if the Lord must sadly cry to get through to us all,
That war brings nought but pain and death to both the great and small,
To steal that final fading breath, that fleeting miracle.

No wonder poets mourn the loss of good men young and old,
As each, in turn, they pass across life's threshold warm then cold,
To lose the body's heart and mind, death's secrets to behold,
To leave their loved ones here to find life's worth much more than gold.


Denis Martindale. January 2021.