Battles Poems: 79 / 500

! 11.11.: To The Fallen

Rating: 3.0

Embattled in that mud - and blood-red poppies;
flooded trenches holding 'them' at bay;
life or death a coin's flippant toss-up;
deafening shellfire near by night and day -

for us, these horrors now are others' lives,
impossible to truly comprehend;
yet in my own mind's state, I recognise
these battles are still raging without end:

the mud, the clung-to life, the enemy
imagined - these, we strive still to invent.

Their thoughts, at death's door, lost to memory:
'I love you...' - gone, a family's content.

We owe to them to live a life of love
as if we were transfused from their own blood.

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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Esther Leclerc 28 July 2006

No, we can never fully know or begin to imagine the horror of WWI, but you take us to the grief and loss soaked in that ground. And your final line says it ALL. Thank you for this...

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Samuel Nze 23 March 2006

Mikolo, I think you do yourself perennially proud - way to go, man!

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Laura Cummings 02 March 2005

WOW! there are no words. this is fantastic!

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Charles Flesfader 04 February 2005

Thank you Michael. Very touching, and wish I had said it! Have tried in different ways. Loved it! Charles

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Ashraful Musaddeq 03 June 2009

'We owe to them to live a life of love as if we were transfused from their own blood.' Wonderful poem, I love these lines most,10+++

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Daniel Tyler 26 March 2009

A fine piece- superb last line

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Fay Slimm 21 August 2008

Yes we truly owe to them a life lived in love Michael. This covers the horrors of any 'we and them' war which would unfortunately describe almost (or all) conflict. My admiration for your masterly usage of word. Fondly from Fay.

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Colin Jeffery 23 July 2008

This is a truly great poem. Brilliant.

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Jerry Hughes 04 August 2006

There's been enough killing, God knows. Flowers of all nations plucked and placed in grievous rows.

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